From what we think we know
The art sometimes revolted his home,
how his sex was an ivory wonder.
It did want to move
to take a form of human.
Nature forbid it to be alive.
Flesh would admit they embraced,
fingers would bruise rings around its fingers
necklaces dressed the image.
Pillows were its breast for hardness,
warm lips seemed to straight kisses when he touched.
Pygmalion gods burned his prayers,
festival fire disposed the things he prayed for.
His art to be alive, he did dare.
gods told him to rest on the soft couch,
to appreciate life with no wife.