I suppose if it were possible an artist could take a pen and gently sketch the lines of our bodies. The curvature could be represented by a meandering instrument. Mayhap, they capture the moment when your body’s grooves assemble against mine. Blurred lines sketch the messy passion in which we intersect. Sharp strokes of the felt tip will take our shapes prisoner. Imprisoned in a moment of ardor we will forever be those two forms made rigid by observation.
However, why would we want anyone to capture us in those moments, a you and a me becoming an us. Kept secret. Away from the curious and cataloging eyes of artists. I will paint us. our forms, figures. I will paint us with symbols that signify words. I will paint us in the moments my lips meet yours and our language is spoken. And you will move the symbols and figures to suit us both, a duet of art.
Who am I to you, as a whole? Or as a part. Partially captured by the gazes of others, until a pieces is made to match.