With a brushstroke or two, here thereabout
I'm commissioned-by-your smile to kiss you.
Lips pouting like an oil pallet about
to start a masterpiece love imbued.
I must pose for a portrait; never flinch
a muscle, a fibre of my being
especially from a hardnosed clinch
meant to keep you blissfully dreaming.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem