Someone left the ink to dry and
dust to settle, forgotten words.
A walk around a frozen sculpture
tells the story, shows the hurt.
Two like we in silence wept for fear
they find an empty bed. There,
where we are told at night to lay down
hope and shun the bright, warming
gush that grows inside at mention of
that marble sight. The slowness of that
growing hair, a touch that works all muscles
there, as from a distance, close and bare two
bodies know and long to share. Unknown worlds
on finite land, caves and mounts as hand guides hand,
while whirlwinds rise and structures tumble, how can
both be right they grumble. Never having felt
the air that blows between the sculptured pair
from lips so near, that long to touch, their breath is true,
and just this much