She was Michelangelo’s David.
She was my Venus de Milo.
She was my goddess, the centerpiece to my world.
Her back tall, arms strong, eyes sure,
the words that spilled from
her lips were the vertical control that moved
my wooden arms, my painted lips.
They were truth.
But rains came.
Winds blew.
Snow froze and cracked
my stone goddess
until one day, I touched her and
all she was was gone.