From Galatea

Even before I woke,

I could see. I could feel.

I could think. I could dream.

I could hate.

And oh, how I hated.

As I stood still as a statue,

my mouth sealed in stone,

my arms frozen at my sides,

my body controlled my another,

I floated in an ocean of revulsion.

When his hands ran over my ivory skin

I could do nothing but see.

In my stone heart I was a raging beast

begging to be set free,

begging to sink my claws

into his rough leathery skin

in an imitation of how he stroked mine.

As his cracked lips pressed to mine

and a warmth suddenly flowed

through my body,

I wanted to cry out in joy to you, Goddess.

Finally, you had set me free.

But you hadn't, not truly.

I traded a prison of pure white stone

for one of pale pink skin.

I could move. I could speak.

I could cry. I could scream.

Only in theory of course.

Now I am caged still

by the arms of lover,

by the child he put in my womb

when I was still too new to question.

And oh, how I hate.

It will always be with me.

But oh how I love.

How something as beautiful

as my daughter could come from such pain

I'll never know.

She can run. She can laugh.

She can feel the sun on her face

and the wind in her hair.

Never has she known a life of stone,

but I watch her,

and I fear she will still know

a life of hate as I have.

My dear girl.

My sweet Paphos.

Sink your claws into the skin of man

before he can sink his teeth into you.