centuries ago, the template for fine art
was imprinted into marble
like how my nails make soft indents in
your skin, artistry finds a place to settle -
to decompose into first principles,
into primary source material
and by some god-given right,
your hands around my waist find their way
to genesis.
in a dream I woke up
on the grounds of a county fair
popcorn glued to my cheek
and I rode the Ferris wheel in a lonely seat made for two
and I understood that we reiterate ourselves
over and over again until it reaches just the right person
at the right time
as the marble only gets smoother with wear.
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