Lover Under Construction

[tectak]

(jeremy/Dale/tectak edit3) Thank you

Lover under Construction

I could try to build a lover
in the garden shed
from my nursery of botanicals
and a chattering of doves.
Should I go exclusively vegetable,
employing sap and cellulose
or fuse animal with spiritual
using milk and aureoles.

I’ve amassed a muddle of body bags,
an archive of Da Vinci drafts,
but Mona Lisa was truly homely,
the Vetruvian Man, deformed.
I had considered going Hollywood,
hoarding silicon and celluloid,
but Monroe was unreliable
and Taylor, much too hyped.

It takes decades to build pyramids,
longer molding perfect breasts,
millennia to ensnare that nebula
of intellect, thought and mood.

I should pinch that cheeky moon
from beneath the black skirt of night,
use Orion’s Belt to cinch her in,
a skein of storks to crochet legs
as peerless as Homer’s epic,
like Calypso’s lissome limbs,
pacing caverns with the task
of recreating Odysseus.


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(jeremy/Dale edit2) Much obliged!

Lover Under Construction

I could try to build another lover
inside the garden shed
from my nursery of botanicals
and a chattering of doves.
Should I go exclusively vegetable,
employing sap and cellulose
or fuse animal with spiritual
using milk and aureoles.

I’ve amassed a muddle of body bags,
an archive of Da Vinci drafts,
but Mona Lisa was truly homely,
the Vetruvian Man's deformed.
I had considered going Hollywood,
hoarding silicon and celluloid,
yet Monroe was unreliable
and Taylor, much too hyped.

It takes decades to build pyramids,
longer molding perfect breasts,
millennia to ensnare that nebula
of intellect, thought and mood.

I should pinch that cheeky moon
from beneath the black skirt of night,
use Orion’s Belt to cinch her in,
a skein of storks to crochet legs
as peerless as Homer’s epic,
like Calypso’s lissome limbs,
pacing caverns with the task
of recreating Odysseus.


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Lover Under Construction

I could try to build another lover
inside the garden shed
from a nursery of botanicals
and chattering of doves.

Should I go exclusively vegetable,
using sap and cellulose
or altogether animal
with milk and aureoles?

I’ve amassed a muddle of body bags,
an archive of Da Vinci drafts,
but Mona Lisa was truly homely,
the Vetruvian Man's deformed.

I’ve considered going Hollywood,
hoarding silicon and celluloid,
but Monroe was unreliable
and Taylor, much too hyped.

It takes decades to build pyramids,
longer molding perfect breasts,
millennia to ensnare that nebula
of intellect, thought and mood.

I should pinch that cheeky moon
from beneath the black skirt of midnight,
use Orion’s Belt to cinch her in,
a skein of storks to crochet legs

as peerless as Homer’s epic,
like Calypso’s lissome limbs,
pacing caverns while at task
rebuilding Odysseus.

Excellent edit 3....but I would say that. No, very much your poem. Watch out for gappy stanza breaks. S6-7 breaks a mould. That is all.
Best,
tectak