"Fragments"

She stood, a fresco breathing in the mist,
marble warmed by dawn.
Each freckle, a constellation in slow orbit,
beneath a sky of tender bloom.
Water traced her form like poetry too shy to speak aloud.
Not carved, but kissed into being,
the statue dreams and stirs.
The marble held her as a chalice holds flame,
trembling, luminous, alive.
Rivulets run like whispers,
between the temples of her thighs.

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Sarapin, in the year 986 AF.