Member-only story
a poem
And if I could but cast thee in Michelangelo’s sacred marble
Or bury you in the words of Shakespeare’s virtuous sonnet
Cast you in bronze and set you high upon the plinth
Or paint you in the colors of Botticelli’s unsullied womb of Venus
Such sweet surrender thy could bring to my touch
Such artful and liberal ways from whence to observe
You dressed in morning’s light or beneath starry sky resplendent
Chic in nature’s deceptive ways of candor and sweet serene
But at a moment in time I thus imagine you transformed
In free form, not rent by man’s shame nor virtue, but by lust
And formed within the extolled beauty of the soul that sit before me
I fail to transcribe the vicissitudes of subtle tender be
And if I could kneel before thee a servant slew from uncomplimentary tiding
I could not but hide my zealous intentions wasted upon your beauty
For I am but a man, not me a God or worthy one sought in perfumed airs
But a common wretch cast among the deluge that washes upon your shores
