Galatea's Twin Poem by Alla Bozarth

I would like to be
Pygmalion’s twin soul
but not have to do the labor
of carving my own masculine ideal
from marble. I would settle for Michelangelo’s
David for my male Galatea, and gladly kneel before it
in feminine adoration until the spirit of that bodily perfection
would wake up and respond—

animate the pectoral musculature, the beating heart, the manly arms,
give life to the eyes and let them take me in, become rapt in return,
bow to raise me to himself, press his lovely lips into my neck, cover
my face with smooth warm kisses, hum “This is My Beloved” while
his hands, eyes and mouth begin to explore the curvature of my form,
which would then transform to be thirty years younger and a matched
perfection to his own, and then he would gently bend to scoop me into
his arms as true lovers do and carry me all the way home, where an
invisible butler with perfect timing and utmost discretion would have
arranged for us to be welcomed by candlelight and roses in every room,
the sensual wrap-around sound of a cello, a fine cold supper with wine
in gold-rimmed china and crystal on ivory damask, and all the rest
would naturally follow—

and I would have thick tresses of auburn silk hair
that bathed his body with heaven as I bent over it—
and all of this would last until I said some magic word
and returned him to marble perfection, and placed him
in the corner of my bedroom until the next time
I needed him. And I would keep that butler on staff
for the rest of my life.


This poem is from the book, My Passion for Art by Alla Renée Bozarth,
copyright 2011. All Rights Reserved.