With his loving fingertips he beholds with the eyes of his heart <br />Each and every curve still virginal in his mind <br />With longing eyes he gazes lovingly at the lifeless piece of clay <br />Nameless shapeless <br /> <br />He carves moulds sculpts late into the night <br />With Knowing hands, loving hands <br />He does not need light or sight <br />With soft moonlight he touches teases moulds every curve <br /> <br />Finally she begins to take form <br />His beautiful Venus <br />He caresses her with such passion longing and love <br />He cups her flawless youthful face <br />Runs his hands down her slender neck down over her breasts <br />Breasts swollen soft and silky <br />His mouth lets out an involuntary moan <br /> <br />Travelling further down to her slender midriff <br />Pressing his fingertip gently creating the perfect indentation <br /> <br />Slowly gently tentatively he lowers his head <br />His lips touch her very core <br />Momentarily he inhales then exhales <br />Wishing with all his life <br />He could breathe life into her <br />To have and to hold as his own <br />To call her his very own<br /><br />Leila Kay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sculptor-2/
