With his loving fingertips he beholds with the eyes of his heart
Each and every curve still virginal in his mind
With longing eyes he gazes lovingly at the lifeless piece of clay
Nameless shapeless
He carves moulds sculpts late into the night
With Knowing hands, loving hands
He does not need light or sight
With soft moonlight he touches teases moulds every curve
Finally she begins to take form
His beautiful Venus
He caresses her with such passion longing and love
He cups her flawless youthful face
Runs his hands down her slender neck down over her breasts
Breasts swollen soft and silky
His mouth lets out an involuntary moan
Travelling further down to her slender midriff
Pressing his fingertip gently creating the perfect indentation
Slowly gently tentatively he lowers his head
His lips touch her very core
Momentarily he inhales then exhales
Wishing with all his life
He could breathe life into her
To have and to hold as his own
To call her his very own
Leila Kay
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sculptor-2/
