A woman’s soul is…
A buried treasure,
Waiting for someone with map skills
To dig her out.
Waiting for someone who won’t peek at the ending,
because they know the adventure lies in the slow reveal,
In savoring the actions of exposing delicious mystery,
written on every page of her story.
Waiting for a man with the right heart to recite her message,
using soft tones,
Bringing her to life in his mouth.
And every woman is a sculpture.
A lovely form hidden in stone,
Seen clearly by a man with vision,
For hands which know how to wield hammer and chisel accurately,
For heart dedicated to a labor of love,
And for the soothing touch of a buffing cloth,
Once the pain of emerging from her prison is over.