carve

this morning
we were archerfish
and bluebird,
cat
and swallowtail, 
monument
and fountain,
abstract and concrete.
we were marble,
clay, steel, flame,
building up
and carving away. 
brancusi
and calder,
rounding off,
grounding, then
suspending
and floating.
making love is nothing
if not sculpture:

surface is paramount,
with a glimpse of
the potentials within
to lead us on.
our hands swerving
and smoothing, gliding
up over the ribs
with varying pressure,
applying thumbs
to tease out the nipples.
here is where we bend
back, here is where we
create the arched neck,
here is where we
mold the open mouth, 
there is so much time
needed for each lip,
so much care needed
to give the hips their crests, 
to choose
the ridge for each cheek.

but we are not stone and bronze.
we move —
plastic now, animated now,
stillness swiftly swept up in frenetic once again —
so we work again, picking up the tools,
seeking the next beings,  the next interiors;
this time cat and bluebird, swallowtail
and archerfish, nevelson
and rodin, or, better still, nameless before
the possibilities of a new elgin frieze.
there is animal in me:
you will find it.  there is
goddess in you:
I swear,
I will find it.