While thoughts escape
Like water evaporates
There is enough moisture
For my massaging palms,
To grip the pink putty,
And shape your perception.

If there is art in sculpting
The very nature you see statues
Staring back in awe of your philosophic tangents
Wrapped upon the senses, as you can taste words
And hear flavors, while seeing sound
As I play maestro.

Does the soothing touch
Pinching and pulling clay
Release enough dopamine
To unfurl those brows
And turn a frown into a grin?

Can you feel the synapses fire like pistons
Grafting new sensation
Causing involuntary motion to feel like an ordinary choice?
Does the gift I’ve given in the foresight of what was
Now seems so prolific as I change it,
Sculpting you, molding every secret
From you, like god, malleable mud
Into a fire kiln vase -
And break you just the same as terra-cotta