Delilah, my Judas
she sold my soul for a slice of bread -
but she knew I'd crawl back.

She is my Empress,
and I'm the Fool; floored and
wiping away crumbs with teeth.

Monet gave her a brush,
and I am a canvas, only colorless skin.

To her, I'm an outline but
she's slowly,
so slowly,
filling me in.