I do not love you as I used to,
While not to be confused for insulting or spiteful,
My sculpture is remiss of your soul,
Compared to the trace of your face with my fingers where I lack sight.
This plain rock evolved with the rhythm of my chisel,
As my marble-dusted palms sculpt your lips,
To a petal plumpness,
My Michelangelo's David.
Rich was your godly aura that has dimmed to a soft glow,
Where flesh becomes hard at the detriment of detail,
And stone becomes cold without grip.
Rather than carving my world through rose-tinted lenses,
White smog dusts over the hollowness of your eyes,
And your cheeks are flushed maroon with pigmented kisses.
I do not love you as I used to.
While I do admire your pose in a frame,
Your movements are heavier and your hair curls with marble instead of salt.
While I wipe the remnant grains from the finished edges,
This statue becomes stagnant while your brittle pose relaxes.
I etch into the bed of arms each time my blade cascades down your facade,
As I engineer a man frozen to love me.
I do not love you as I used to,
But you are still my masterpiece.
YOU ARE READING
An Ode to Muses to Melpomene
PoetryThis poetry collection explores love, toxic relationships, heartbreak, and a dash of possessiveness. Don't fall in love while reading it! If you are in love, angry, sad, or going through a heartbreak, pick up a copy and you'll probably find somethin...
