Sorry David

When I try to picture a faultless face

I see smooth marble curving easily over defined musculature

The epitome of beauty, of strength

and I long to hold that perfect promise against my weathered features

But when my fingers reach that unmarred surface, I flinch

from the unexpected cold

The frozen features a mere record of a momentary ideal

lacking the burn, the change, of growth

A perfection I can only reach once my skin turns as cold

as that lifeless sculpture