i am a daughter of michelangelo
chipping away with sculptor’s mallet
to free the man i see inside
frantic task with hammer and chisel
rasp and rifler
chaos flying from my hands
wounds inflicted
drawn to your frame
your structure
block of granite
chunk of stone
reaching to embrace you
finding no softness
feeling no give
my ear against your chest listens
pulse pops
warmth spreads
i gather my tools
gather myself
moaning soft songs
wings folding like a mourning dove
melodies sloping downward
that only i can sigh
i take flight
singing my story
releasing my song
beyond range
distant
clear
strong
your own song follows me
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