David's Rival Poem by Airda Jones

No artists' brush
Could ever really define
The smooth sleekness of
Your every contour line

Beauty simply molded
Into such a simple form
Yet so complex in curves
Each one needing to be adored

My sensitive fingertips
Trail over your silky skin
Surely this indulgence
Is the most devine sin

Every time that I have
Your body in my hands
I hold the greatest
Masterpiece of any man

The feel of you can
Never be drawn or painted
Only touched by the eyes
In our eternal bed.