#galatea
Such a classic mortal blunder to lay
my spine as it erodes, graceless, inelegant
on Galatea’s cold, ivory arms;
such delicate carvings can never be human, look human,
feel human under my lonesome bones.
I long to see you flinch and break
into fine, liquid, rain of dust blinding me,
covering the walls of this room
in a blameless shade of white: a new asylum ward
for my kind of insanity,
you say.
It envelopes like light around my awe
and my forlorn limbs,
tangled with Galatea’s unmoving ones.
I look for comfort within brittle carcasses
scraped of everything they could ever give.
The quiet persists eerily.
But here, Pygmalion’s gifts remain untainted:
the apex of auger shells, the beak of a songbird
the blunted ceriths, the rusty chisels
all impaling my spinal bones.
Yet the sculptor’s kisses, long erased,
the careful carvings, long defaced,
long reduced into a Grecian ruin.
I bury my body on your arms yet they find no rest
against the ghostly pleas of mammalian tusks.
How many for your fingers?
How many for your hair?
Tell me, Galatea, were you carved to bear the weight of
all the sea salt I swallowed as I drowned?
Soften under my meandering thoughts; I long
to see you flinch and break — like all the dead elephants —
any reminder that you yield pliantly to the voice
of the love goddess, that you were once turned human.
Break now, your solid arms, under my own collapse
over the sea foam caught on fire.
I am no longer bending and weeping to pick myself up.
Here it all goes down and ends:
my bones,
and yours,
burning,
snapping.
Nothing —
nothing less glorious will last after us.
— Fray Narte
Dec 5, 2022
Dec 5, 2022 at 10:05 PM UTC
Once again
I am captured
Struck by the rose,
enraptured by the thorn.
I see your reflection in
ivory paper,
and the crown of your sweet head
like a blanket of fallen snow.
Does it matter, I wonder,
if you were truly alive or truly living?
For in these pages I can see your image
as truly as if it were a branding in my head.
The gentle slope of your shoulders,
the dark and twisted curls-
Now see, you begin to see her too-
the small & delicate hands,
with crooked ring fingers,
the intuitive eyes.
And perhaps if I call Aphrodite,
down from the sea foam
and have her fair lips kiss these words,
I can have you materialize in my breath
and echo into my arms,
a statue no more.
Or perhaps I will lie a fool
my thumbs and forefingers obscured by ink
and your skin that of clay
detached and resolute.
Dec 27, 2020
Dec 27, 2020 at 2:09 PM UTC
pink plush lips against my clavicle
breathe into me a life that i never knew
before you
Oct 16, 2020
Oct 16, 2020 at 12:38 AM UTC
She was a numinous beauty
of eclectic ideals,
body tall and slender,
skin pale and smooth.
She was……
My work of art
She was everything
a fool could want for
but She was hard
and unfeeling
her body marble cold
She was held
aloft, aloof
from this world
Her eyes vacuous,
vapid, and gray.
But I liked her that way
She was My perfect perfidy,
My big **** you to the gods
She made me a faithless man
as I lost sight of all but her
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 3:46 PM UTC
he sculpts his perfect woman out of marble
drapes her in silks and jewels
fits his hands around her waist and kisses her cold lips
venus blesses their union and one day
she is warm underneath him and naked and afraid
he asks her why- she was created by him
for him
why does she shy away from the hands that formed her?
she puts the distance of a city-state between them
"you created me to love you
but you kissed me when i had no voice
you dressed me when i had no choice
you loved me, but never asked if you were lovable."
and this was the hand of venus, then.
love is not love when it has to be carved out of stone.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
You were so beautiful,
Like a marble statue
Behind millions of dollars of security.
But now your insecurity
Has defiled your purity;
The glossy perfection
Turned rotten
At your crystal lips of limestone;
You flawless face, now
Fouled by fatality;
And worst of all:
Your once sweet words
Are now rancid with
Distaste of me,
And it simply destroys
The beauty I see in you,
A beauty greater than
Any Greek statue
Carved eons ago.
You don’t see that your ego
Sped up time’s flow,
Faded your glow.
You’re rubble, my friend,
You’re nothing but old.
My fires of love
Are suddenly cold.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC