THE LIONS DEN

(A PAUSE BEFORE PERFECTION)
THE MUSIC...
http://youtu.be/5ZtrIBob2GI

If I were the sculptor and you the clay formed of dirt and water would I hear your voice calling to be form.
Would I listen or go another way.
Running from perfection cause in perfection I the sculptor would be signaling my end.
What more is there.
Would I lovingly caress the clay making it moist and smooth here.
Cutting lines there.
Your eyes and the spirals and naps of your hair.
I working would form your breasts and your buttocks, pressing for a moment and leaving my fingerprint so that future youth would whisper.
"He loved her so, you can see it in her formation."
"He left a fingerprint in her smooth skin."
I the artist living on in her image just as the most ancient art of Kemet speaks of we living as king, queens and seed.
The eyes of Nefertiti.
We the chosen of god you see, in the images as they hearken to our rise and fall.
I sculptor trying to express our complexity.
The depths of my need...
A darkened room where I look at you half formed and I can't sleep... I can't sleep.
The creator me as the clay weeps, as it laughs, as it gives birth to dreams.
I never wanting it to stop pause a moment before completion...
If I give them perfection would it mean my end?
I step back and take a long look as she formed from clay stands magnificently reticent.