Galatea:

Deliciously forbidden,
Melting down to my toes,
Liquid gold through his hands
This heat brands what it shows.
A glorious arc,
(the product of a spark),
An otherworldly glow,
radiates through the dark.
Heat rises, I've been told,
But it's combusting my bones,
Sinking, burning, binding until
My secret heart is not my own.
Poured out, setting
With this freshly cooling heat,
An intricate design,
The makers mark underneath.
I'm a woman, defined;
Made in the strangest new lines,
And I glitter in the dark,
His eyes the hottest spark.
His hands are carving sin,
Pygmalion to Galatea,
I'm stone... and then skin.