Statuette

I followed his hands with my eyes,
as he followed my curves with his hands,
every time we get together,
he re-creates me
I'm his muse, his art
forever a work in progress,
his source of pleasure and pain,
joy and frustration,
I'll never be perfect
and he seeks elusive perfection.
Are his eyes cold and unmoving?
or is it just my reflection?
the reflection of a statue; motionless,
but never emotionless
and when I'm lost in emotion,
I may act senseless
but never insensitive, like him, when he laughs
at my feelings;
His laugh as cold as his eyes
as bold as his lies
His feelings hidden like trained spies
Mocking mine as they walk in the open,
unaware that they were being stalked
as I talked and talked
opening myself up
making the target bigger and bigger
as he aimed at my heart
and shot.