Sledgehammer

by Dee Sunshine

I wet my finger,

trace a line through plaster dust:

expose the raw, rust-encrusted metal.

Metal and plaster taste in my mouth.

Yin to yang -

plaster submits to metal,

implodes to its shiny touch.

Where once there was sculpture,

now there are only lumps and dust.

Metal and plaster -

the taste is tart, wry and sexual,

filling me with its corroded essence.

Tonight I want her very much.

~ previously published in Visions of the Drowning Man