My Calmly Roaring 20s

Poem Five: Thank You For the Word, Sylvia

I'm sitting at the foot, waiting for a statue to move me.

I built you myself, Colossus.

I stole you from the grounds of Olympus

And made this (e)scape your home.

When I gripped your arm and said I love you, did you respond?

Did those marble lips open behind the fog and submit reciprocity,

Where I might not be graced enough to follow witness?

Make me yours:

- Lover, disciple, Atlas, litigator, masterpiece; dispel the demon of me.

I'll turn to stone, too, if I sit here long enough with you,

Covered in clay beneath the sun.

~RaspberryRiddle