Cameo: Etched in Time
My parents made me who I am. At my birth, I was raw and dying, plucked from my bed of sand.
They took a hammer and chisel to my face, with a dream that I could be more.
I was shattered to pieces, broken, chipped at, and polished.
My maker cast the face of his love on mine, she was forever consecrated through me.
I am most precious to him, I am stubborn as my expression never changes.
Knives cut my alabaster skin, carved to reveal my rosy flesh, hard, cold to the touch.
My body is framed in gold, a silhouette of my dainty figure.
Light through my cheeks make me glow; but the shadows cast over my face and reveal my scars in relief.
On me there are no chips, no cracks, I am perfect. I am frozen in time only for a moment.
I represent pride, love, beauty, devotion. I am a symbol of a time that has passed that is still alive.
I sit above my masters heart, I hang there to comfort her, to her I am precious.
Once in awhile her fingers brush over my face, caressing me, reassuring herself I am still there.
The warmth of her breasts penetrates my hard surface, it radiates through me.
I am a timeless reminder of days before today, stories untold, and eclipsed by years. For her, I hold a dream, a story, a hope. To her, I’m perfect though my imperfection.
Her neck is only one of many I have graced. Some vain, some humble, some callous, so,me kind, some old, some young.
I will forever carry for her, a memory, and for others, a tradition.
I am the face that looks away, but is looked at. In a brief moment, my story is told by whoever wears me.
