At the Musée Rodin I looked for us
among the lovers. We were never that
fierce, a couple twinned in flight,
white marble bodies all delicate curve

back to back lying across air. And yet.
How those arms reach over his head,
seize her shoulder, her breast,
how she strains beyond his hands,

free and fleet as a bird. They were
once a world lost, abandoned flesh,
and in that searing rush, how could they
not fall apart? Look at mouths,

averted, bodies caught in space.
He is cast over her, facing the heavens,
She is facing earth. Stretched
on that rack, desire holds them

still, governs her tongue, consumes
him. Here, see how love fares
beyond death, tender as hell,
transports like doves' wings.