I Am The Sculptor

I want to be a sculptor, I want you to be my clay. Let me run my fingers along your soft substance, your cool damp edges smooth to my touch. You are mailable and I am ready to shape. Crack free and essentially whimsical to my every movement. We dance together, taking on each others figured, stumble over over our bends. Dancing along the gravel of the ground, enveloping everything in our path. Becoming one with ourselves, one with one another, one with our surroundings. Melting in the summer, freezing in the winter. Catching every zephyr, repelling every drop of rain. We will not crumble with age, we will not erode to become sediments in the life cycle. Here we will stay, a sculptor and its clay. Morphed into one. Art imitates life. I am art.