Friend

Dear sculptor, 

You think I can't see your wandering eyes, looking at me with hope.

You are molding a statue of me, this being that you are fantasizing me to be...

that's not me.

I am not marble, 

I am not stone. 

I am only flesh, 

an essence wrapped in bones. 

We have only just met, 

our conversations give me wonder.

But those wandering eyes...

they need to go. 

I already have a lover, 

and he is all I wish to own. 

But I can call you a friend, 

if you wish.

That's sadly all I can give to you. 

Your molding hands have begun to yearn for more than a statue, 

and I must stop them there. 

My skin belongs to another, 

and you are just a friend.