Female Figure In a Museum

She has left the drape of darkness. Soft electric lighting nudges hips into revelation. Her stone has left its whiteness, blue veins bury their tributaries into perfected form. There’s a dappled culturing where marble flexes. Her body lives beyond death and life, the sculptress created her as a mirror-image of her desire. It is a dishonor to simply look at such plicature, curve and contour as if she were created only to be an object for the eye; to touch her, bring her under my flesh, to know the shape of her in my body that is the secret depth, the wish. Hands seek to hide my mind while they ripple together within pocketed thoughts.