A Figurine of You

So I will finally hold you down between each blistered palm

like two halves of melted clay, I will knead

rhythmically until you are molded into my determined calm;

and then the maelstrom that beats outside, it will recede…

‘

like two halves of melted clay I will knead

tirelessly, believing I could shape you (back to life) from disbelief

and then the maelstrom that beats outside, it will recede…

somewhere, in the saline rain of dough and sweat, is my reprieve

‘

tirelessly, believing I could shape you (back to life) from disbelief

your every expression patterned so clearly into mud

somewhere, in the saline rain of dough and sweat, is my reprieve

from having to remind myself of your mortality

‘

your every expression is patterned so clearly into mud

yet my knuckles are clumsy, I remember you dented and smudged ;

from having to remind myself of your mortality

I soon leant how the length of eternity is easily misjudged

‘

On some nights I massage you (and the portion of you in me)

rhythmically until you are molded into my determined calm;

every gesture and every breath; a figurine exact in every degree

So I will finally hold you down between each blistered palm