If we were made of dust then the purest was used for you
From nature, intricate organic forms like mounds of snow 
Dunes of sand we will traverse afar in search of the shining star 
An addendum to the songs sung of the solo man
Delicate modular sculptures, an epitome of patience and beauty

Hairs of curl, waxed by the streams of yonder 
A mannequin of grace, flesh and warmth 
An obsession of parts neatly moulded with care 
A work of art, masterpiece, the female body 
I stood before her, inhaling her very essence

A battlefield front line of culture, idealism and religion 
Like paper, pen is scribbling, etched into the fibres of cellulite 
Twisted, college ruled, stapled, clipped, covered and stacked 
Still a Library of words, power and philosophy it remains

Lying freely at the sides, arms to twist embraces 
On two, legs to walk majestically 
Softly molded, hands to caress 
Mushy mushy belly to fill with nice food 
On attention, breasts to milk the little ones

A mind of own to make sound judgement 
And lips to kiss, and radiate the voice of power 
Eyes of constellations and revelations
The wise had no gourd to hold you 
You flowed freely to where you belonged

A paradox of sharp edges and gentle curves 
Only the bravest of the brave can maneuver 
Many lay dead on the mons pubis 
Only few dared to knock the crevice 
Survivors only live to tell the tale

Whips of old stretched the marks
Stories untold embedded inside
Tell the stories and we will listen 
We intertwine,Bonded, papier-mâché

Close the curtains, turn off the light 
Spark a flame, set ablaze 
Tonight we warm ourselves
And worship by the the fireside