Stone Prince
The statue, of whom I do not know,
With vines and moss veiling it’s form,
All gray granite but for sparkling glass eyes.
As I cleared the green, I thought I felt...
But no; statues do not breath.
I thought I saw, I heard, I felt a gasp,
Perhaps my own as I saw his angelic face,
Lips young pea-pods, and almond eyes.
The move vegetation I removed,
The more I saw, the more I learned,
Of this strange man, this god, hero, ruler,
Who was such a gorgeous mystery.
This glass-eyed god, stone Adonis,
“Who are you?” I whispered, softly,
With a rush of my blood, a heat in my face.
I couldn’t stop myself, could not help myself,
As I reached up to this composite Apollo,
And lightly kissed, just barely kissed cool stone lips,
And the foundation shook beneath my feet.
The statue shook gravel out of his hair,
Pealed scales of mineral from his skin,
And looked at me disheveled.
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