poetry & things

Museum art

It was more like alabaster, but I could only be sure

of one thing; it was an exquisite lesson in anatomy

cold ancient, pale Roman stone, the arm half gone

strongly curved, the rippling of muscle, hair and bones

a man held by pillar, marble like legs of smoothest stone

his eyes deep set that wended near, then waywardly away

the kind that strangely follow sometimes linger into the next day

broad faced, cheekbones perfectly amid the shadows

and I don’t mind saying while on my museum trip

though he was a statue, I thought to kiss

those divinely sculpted lips.

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