Becoming Your Goddess

You have sculptor's hands
and my flesh becomes the clay
within your touch, as you
shape my Willendorf curves
I become your Venus.

Hold me now like your
Persephone, who wavers
upon the precipice of this life
and the netherworld, on the verge,
of being ripped away into
eternities of darkness.

Your fingers flirt with harp strings
like sweet Orpheus, speaking
the secret language of my heart,
and I know you would play
the hymns to sing me back
into your arms.