striking silver. vibrant sights. 

silence falls into my hands. 

against the lights, my brushstrokes soften,

pen, softly rowing- colors into threads.  

/ a mural’s reflection.  

a splitting line, i trace his skin, a

polished blue- light as morning dew. 

hold it. right there. perfect. 

his neck- is the most welcoming surface i

ever did see. 

slender and sculptural. 

my ideal muse. 

my greatest project, 

he serves as a canvas,  

exposed and dismantled, 

he is my doll. 

a mural in plastic, a decoupage of skin,

stained by ink. sticky and sweet. 

his lips are the finest shade 

of red i ever did see 

a carmine tint, matte yet faint 

like the residue of a letter’s kiss. 

his body is a delicacy 

his arms- connectors, his legs- pillars,

puzzles and extensions 

the foundations for my final piece. 

my toolbox of creation. 

strings. needles. glue. construct.

tighten into place. a mannequin.

his neck. his arms. his legs. his face. his skin.

painted. drawn. assembled. sewed onto plastic. 

a pentagram of parts, 

both illy placed and flawless. 

i admire his physique 

release a sigh of satisfaction 

i think i’ll name him— 

Solomon.