I am art.

Meant to be looked at,

admired,

not touched.

But come close,

see the strokes that make me up,

the colors of my Maker.

My body a portrait,

sketched from dust,

beautiful in the eyes of man.

Holy is the canvas I was born on,

woven from love,

brushed with care.

I am not meant to be touched,

but look,

and see that I am a masterpiece.