They’ve all been beautiful- in their own way.
Beautiful like peaches
or almonds, or milk.
Like fawns, like birds, like stone.
terrifying and pacifying
Beautiful.
But He,
He is jasmine flowers and converse on cold concrete,
cherubs and soldiers of God
He is black marble and molten gold
A lion, my wolf.
He, elusive in the dark, beside me ephemeral
He is dark eyes and dark hair and words words words.
My Achilles in every way, the Hypnos to my Eris
Adonis carved from marble, strong straight jaw
Galatea warmed to flesh, curved perfect lips
Made in the image of Eros, My Rome.
He doesn’t know he’s art.
The Carving Witch 