Galathea
Unlike
the muses of great poets
i write
i give voice
to the other side
how the living laurel
feels
to be loved.
i give voice
to the object of
Pygmalion’s desire
how it feels
when he touches her
kisses her
desires her
and she longs
to touch him
feel his skin
against her fingertips
and she longs
to meet her
stony lips
with his
to yield
against his mouth
to yield
beneath his hands
as he has molded
her flesh from stone.
all this desire
bursts through
suddenly her mouth
meets his lips eagerly
suddenly her hands
meet his flesh eagerly
suddenly her flesh
warm now
molds against his
and suddenly
she opens her eyes
desire is what she
first knows
her lover is what she
first sees.
