I see you sweet naked, lying asleep,
Your sweet eyes closed in a joy-dream deep.
I see you sweet naked, and it’s just for me—
The artist who paints what his glad eyes see.
I dab on a yellow, light pinks and a blue;
I brush in a cream-color (let it be true!).
And then you awaken; “What’s all this?” you say,
“I’m painted all over! Throw your brushes away!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear, but my canvas was torn;
I just had to paint you, or I’d be forlorn.
A masterpiece can’t wait till all is just right,
So I painted you true while you slept through the night!”
“Oh my dear, you’re so cute, but I really must shower.”
“Oh, lost is my masterpiece! Gone in an hour!”
“Don’t worry, my love, we will do it once more,
But next time—good canvas, or paint on the door!”