Sledgehammer

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.