Marble
She resembles sculptures
in more than marble curves;
Audience eyes,
behold! Carven clay
with bustier brain than
most statues possess.
Perhaps what they lack
is the auburn veil
that masks her grace
with ember.
It blazons against
diadem skin, but
grants it no warmth.
Fire dwells deeper
inside you,
buried under
flint,
waiting for
moonlight to spark.
Shift sleepily,
glass figurine,
daylight stirs now,
and only darkness
breathes you life.
The roar of the
waking moon gives
flesh to clay.