He was a labourer. Bones aching, muscles tense.
A well-oiled mechanical body, but intoxicated senses.
His hand had sore calluses that he gnawed at.
His heart was a slow exercise in the creation of a black hole.
But he strode on. He was a builder. There was so much to be done.
She showed him the exquisite. Pain could be appreciated, out of it came art.
The angst, the fury, the alienation, the despair – it could all come alive.
She was his Venus, in blue jeans no less!
She was that which cheered his heart.
She was that which quenched his desperation.
She was the beauty around which he built his masterpiece.