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In His Hands

Like clay in an artist's hands

This is how I begin

Only he can mold me

My needs he understands

His hands supple and warm

Patience of an artist, sculpting me to form

Moisture and I melt a bit

Harder and I become stiff

Wanting to be beautiful 



Flaws visible to him 

Beauty relies on him

In his hands I begin 

In his hands I am

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