This is not the first time
I have been stunned silent
by beauty such as yours
nor the first time
I’ve had to offer praise through petty lines
in pretty pieces of paper
to make up for a shriveled voice
and withered will.
This is not the first such offer I have made
but I pray it’s the last.

Look me in my foureyes;
you’ll see that it’s true:
I’ve been looking for
something new to get into.
Don’t you want to be
my latest Goddess?

I am at your disposal.
No – that’s not right.
I am in your superior hands.
You may decide everything.
Even the words I choose
are yours to do with
as you will.

I am a gun unaimed,
a circuit to be switched.
I am a brush
dabbed with paint
poised over canvas
ready to be placed
wherever a true artist intends.
Use me as you see fit.
I am devoted to your purposes, dame.

I know that I’m imperfect,
sure as you are six foot two.
Please be my latest Goddess
else I’ll wash my hands of you.
I have faith you’ll be
my greatest Goddess.

I need some one thing to believe in,
a creature to put on a pedestal
to receive my prayers,
to witness me secretly
silently. If you could accept me concretely
that would be wonderful as well
but not necessary
for the process.

Take me on.
Take me in.
Take me to your temple
and I will make all ablutions you require.
I want you just as you are:
perfect.
You can form me
however you can.

If you have me,
I’m your goo.
I’ll become
what you want me to.
Let me worship
you, my latest Goddess.