Impossible Galatea

You’re alive
Warm blooded, brown eyed
Smiling, laughing, walking
Alive
Yet still I stand like Pygmalion, helpless
Longing for the impossible
Burning, smoldering like Venus for Adonis
Dreaming of the impossible
Impossible

Your brown skin is soft and vibrant
You are still marble to me
Your eyes sparkle when you laugh
To love you is to love a statue, so cold, unknowing
You are so warm, so alive
Yet still I cannot reach you
You walk like all the other beings of this Earth
And yet I would you were marble
That I could not torment myself with the impossible
If I knew you were stone I would not hope
That ever you could be transformed
My impossible Galatea

I did not create you
Your reality is your own
But I would make you my reality
Bring my impossible vision of Galatea to life
I have no goddess of love to pray to
She does not see fit to transform you
From my marble hearted Galatea
To the passionate flesh I pray for you to be

Never did Galatea’s statue know the burning in the sculptor’s heart
So shall you never know of me
Pygmalion enthralled to a silent, unknowing passion
You will never be transformed
My impossible Galatea