Like clay in an artist’s hands
This is how I begin
Only he can mold me
My needs he understands
His hands supple and warm
Patience of an artist, sculpting me to form
Moisture and I melt a bit
Harder and I become stiff
Wanting to be beautiful
Surrender
Unconditional
Flaws visible to him
Beauty relies on him
In his hands I begin
In his hands I am
