Such divine glory to behold.
Your body and soul manifesting such beauty.
To see you with my eyes and my heart.
To know who you are.

Am I able to sculpt you,
Able to tempt the gods with your exquisite charms.
To use my fingers to mold a semblance of you.

To caress the clay,
Enjoying the deliberate strokes.
Spreading the moist substance
Into the image of you.

Will you pose for me
Just this once,
Trembling with the need to be created
Anew.

Your eyes modestly downcast,
But not disconsolate or despondent.

My eyes feel you and you feel them,
Gazing upon such a dream
As to make
Me sigh, and my hands waver
In their intent.

To make you, to shape you,
To hold you here in the reality of wise
Fixation and appetite.

Will the truth bear out the fantasy,
The aspiration I hold,
To join the two.

Making sense of my need
By completing the ambition,
Completing me.

You will make me whole
By my act of sculpting the wonder 
Of your flesh and spirit
With my hands.

My hands touching the medium,
And the model,
To combine your totality with my 
Reality.

And yet,
Your hands touching.

Shall you sculpt me
Into a man you envision,
Endowing me
With the character and the contours
You seek.

Will you mold me with the delightful magic
Of your allure.

Sculpt me, 
Shape me,
Make me into what you may adore,
As I adore.

There is no need.

There is no need to change me
For I am what you need,
As you are the single piece of art 
To fill my museum of love.