I... Became
iwas Michelangelo
your skin the marble (i considered),
but you sculpted...
within deep sensuous circles of--molten earth...
i became,
a child of your dancing fingers
the water made wine to your lips,
a flower from stone
iwas Micchelangelo
i journeyed to every detail of your form,
but found myself.
This is a first draft
Copyright © Orphani ..........O | Year Posted 2009
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