Architect

Sculpting
What am I if not your lover?
You took your ribbon, scraper, and sponge; defining my finest features
You showed me the most beautiful colors you had, and invited me to share with you
You spoke in bursts of brilliance that made me howl aloud
You shared with me your most sacred creations
But when my basic shapes were molded, they did not give me eyes for ground.
What am I if not yours?
Dew drops on a springtime spiderweb
A snowflake to the tongue
A spider with no home
And a child, so sick, so young.
I didn’t know until later, that I had tapered the fun.
What am I if not.
You told me that my clay had gotten into your lungs
But this was ages after I had called off all our fun.
My scrape came from your scalpel
Incomparable to my gun
For all the sins I’d committed
I wish I had been hung.
What am I if…
I hurt you. You flinched back to my touch.
Now thinking of your colors, makes vomit bubble up.
What am I
Offered you a word of peace
You took it all and chewed it up.
I picked up every piece.
What am
Bile in my throat when thinking of that beautiful scraper, beautiful sponge, that shaped my finest features.
An irremovable mark into my form.
Delicate, beautiful
In other places, damage to my core structure.
I wish I had not hurt you.
I wish that I could say
I hope that I could make you happy
To fix my wrongs one day.
What . . . ?
What am I if not your lover?
I know.

I’m one of your most painful memories.

And I’m sorry.
K.C
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