you the artist...me the clay...

Your turntable and the mound of wet clay
Move round and round in my dreams all day...

Your fingers with layers of trust
Fall on me softly just
The way you shape and mold
Wet clay by your moving fingers told
Stories of different shapes and forms
Stories carrying conical or cylindrical turns...

Your fingers thus on me move
And how they clearly prove
Your overwhelming creative sense
On me leaving imprints dense...
Imprints of tiny cobwebs of your skin
On me applied like a soothing UV 40 protect screen...

Your fingers make me a mound of clay
I find them on me always at play...
Making, unmaking, shaping me fine
Drawing on me so many kindred lines...



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