I want you to draw

a hundred different pictures

of me lying in bed

a hundred different poses and

pretend it's exciting

a hundred different still lives

like vases with tulips

and bind them together

into a flipbook

so you can bring me to life

frame by frame

I don't want to be a statue

the pores of marble can't breathe

I want those lines to

capture me and release me

I want my unkempt curves

to look elegant and lusty

and to bloom like fiery tulips

I want the pencil lead to snap

because there's so much life

in those lines ít doesn't fit

in two-dimensional trees

I want the curators to gasp:

stilled, she still lives