Sculpture
I carved my name
In the edge of his ear
I carved my warmth
In the back of his neck
And I wanted to carve more of me
In places of his
He was mine more than I was his
He was not innocent
He carved things over and over again
My lips, my neck, my chest
Like it wasn’t deep enough, he’d do it over and over again
But I don’t mind
He was wilder than I could ever be
Bolder too
And his hands, the great gift of God,
That made me a kind of art today
I was his sculputure, more I was his than he was mine
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