Mysterious Painter

I wasn't much of a painter, but how you wrapped your arms around me made me feel more home, than at home, and I wanted to paint myself onto you, And how your soft voice pronounced my name, turned me on through each syllable, I knew each line of symmetry wouldn't be perfect, but you made everything seem perfect, And how your deep breathing anticipated something of what seemed as if you were losing breath, but only your glossy eyes, told me otherwise; the pleasure of my paint brush on your canvas made you feel amazing. It's so crazy how I'm not much of a painter, but I'm painting myself onto you so well, like I have been using the same canvas for years, though these years have only been months, I know this is where my paint brush is suppose to be, You and me.. You and I, I feel you. Deeper than any ocean, the waters I paint on you, ocean blue; waterfalls onto your horizon, the colors of divinest. I wasn't much of a painter, but I've painted myself onto you, through each nook and cranny, between the tightest, I feel you, All of you, The real you, through my paint brush, onto your canvas, I paint myself onto you.