Before the Greek statues,
I lingered, held fast.
They kept a perfectness
no breath could outlast.
Then marble turned mortal,
a Muse out of stone.
She kissed, and the radiance
was hers to enthrone.
We met at a table,
candlelight on the floor;
glass, laughter, and motion,
a soft, silver shore.
Though light grew dimmer,
her face outshone the crown;
cold diamonds grew humbler,
their fire was sinking down.
Where oceans lie jeweled
in amethyst flame,
her depths were concealed,
no obsidian could claim.
Long nights did their brewing,
affection ripened through years;
a hush of old pressure,
prosecco sparkled into spheres.
The seasons kept changing;
but one card stayed the same.
The Lovers kept drawing
our old, heartful name.
She came, then the stillness
kindled into flame,
a brief history of time,
constellations in her name.
So if this feels ancient,
already once known,
it’s marble turned breathing,
a cosmos of our own.
