His hands
Made me feel complete as his fingers
Traced the contours of my skin

He intricately carved me
Every bit of me with precision

He was done with me
I now stand in the corner with all the others
Never again will i ever feel the same
Longing for his touch
To feel a whole again

But i am only clay
We will never be together
Because i am only one of his many sculptures
While he was my only sculptor