Compositions without Gloves | Benjamin Nardolilli
She stands over me in bronze,
the curves solid and cool to the touch,
I hold them for a while
and her medium changes
to marble, and then it softens to wood,
before settling down into brick
until her body is a kiln,
what will she mold out of me
using the fire inside of her?
She bends over, grabs my chest,
kisses my neck and moves her fingers
along my stomach and shoulders.
I can feel my wires turn
into arteries and veins,
my iron plates turn into skin and bones,
then my hair,
(my one former human feature),
spin itself into a tapestry
she can run her hands through all morning.
More at http://mirrorsponge.blogspot.com/.