Eros

Carving fine details of features,

She never thought it was a sculpture.

So close to perfection did she capture,

Hard to say it wasn’t one of living creatures

Like those fervent teachers,

Who adore their subject’s nature.

And dancing in gay raptures,

They become their qualities preacher.

So appeared flawless that perfect man,

Her fingers smooth out any imperfections.

Admiring skill from every angle and curve,

She unaware of greater plan,

Like a pendulum swung between reality and fascination,

But never back to absoluteness swerve.