Pygmalion and Galatea
Back in the day when I would look into your eyes
And see shades of white and light unfurling off of Apollo
’s dewy wings
I fancied you Pygmalion
And I Galatea
A man of taut flesh, a woman of cold steel
Seen, but not heard.
ain’t no Mount Olympus
My skin is too rosy to be forged by man.
Five years ago you threw down your chisel
A completed work can only fade away to sweet oblivion
I hope when they look at me
They will see how your hands slowly traced and redressed the pattern of iron curves
Lips smothered hard hips and perky breasts
Eyes burned into the atoms of my very being.
I hope somehow they will see me nod in patient understanding
When I share with them the lament of domestication
Feet that have traced the graceful calligraphy
of one million years and zero smiles.
Oh Pygmalion, will they ever remember me, the coalescion
Can the woman immortal
ever be heard?
This poem is my work.