Galatea

Here I stand. Here from tusk and tooth,

Here on a plinth for your eyeballing enjoyment

Where you mar me with kisses then

Dissent the missed list of the goddess’s blessing,

I cannot say a word, my lips locked by the

Stature you encased me in. Why am I here?

I am perfection, not a flaw on my skin,

My imperfections chi-chi-chiselled away, confiscated

By carved bone and imagination of your ideal

Inamorata. I am she, gynaikeíos

Galatea, desire of your blood red heart,

Art, before skin sags, just ten moments.