The Sculptor

another correspondence class assignment.

In his hands, I am the wax
That, with a single word, he does sculpt
His breath is all that I need
Just one whisper and freely I melt
I am the wax

Each day we spend together is like heaven
I am never sated of his presence
Like the elixir of life, he keeps me going, keeps me alive
More than once, the mere memory of his face has saved me
I am the wax

But the lies, they pour forth from his mouth
Each a higher, brighter flame to soften me
I should know better by now--
Not a word he speaks can be taken for truth
I am the wax

The world turns and still I remain wax
He is my secret love, my sculptor, my destruction