Whether terra cotta plaster,
or plain papier mache …
my mind will recreate you
a thousand times a day.

Oftentimes, I linger
in dreams of passion spent,
envisioning hot interludes
that reincarnate bold intent.

Thus tender smiles … caressing …
evoke embraces, tempest-tossed,
across a winding fall of years–
treasured yet, despite the cost.

Idealized these scenes might be,
but love imbues each one with grace–
while the art work of the Ages
cannot match your form or face.