You Will Find it Soaking in The Honey Jar (p.III)

I think if I were to touch your face I would feel clay

I would see the fingerprint of the sculptor who ran her thumb along your edges

and made you round and iridescent.

I can see where she chiseled out your brow line

Spooned in your eye sockets

And took her thumb and forefinger and blocked in your nose. 

She must have sun-dried you

Because i can see the kiss of sunlight in your hair,

On your skin,

In your deep incandescent eyes. 

I kneel at the base of a marble statue- Persephone, Aphrodite or Artemis- whichever looks more like you

And I become the most dedicated follower in the faith of being yours

with every white camellia laid at your feet,

and red lily pinned to your breast.

I rub saffron in the dip of my collarbone

hoping you catch the scent of my flesh burning.

You have made a cannibal out of me-

Your blood like saccharine wine,

My jaw aches for the feeling of clay between my molars. 

The sculptor, did she collect it from a riverside? Washed and kneaded it until the clay became thick and pliable? Are you fresh from the earth? Are you born from seafoam and emerged from a clam? Are you the titan’s immortal daughter?

Its soaking in the honey jar-

all of you i could get my hands on.

I have been in the eye

of a swarm of bees

Since the night you built a hive in the place my ribs should be.

The honey that seeps out

soaks all that is around us. 

With every drop I pray:

Be sweet on me.