Piety in Front of Perfected Contrapposto

‘‘fall short of the glory’’

The sculpture bends, impossible to curve

Like that, but there he is, a headlong thrust

To needful beauty and a hipslong swerve

To teasing sacredness.  You long to gust

Desire inside those bronze or marble hips

(So stupid), but then there it is behind

Impossible (so small) those bits.  Thud grips

You.  Love grips throttled throat, love never blind.

It sees the loveliness before your chest

Can breathe.  The blankness of the beauty’s eyes

Cannot see you, of course…and that seems best.

He cannot see the boredom of your thighs.

  If only gods were like this pose, but they

    Fall short no matter what the scriptures say.

By Marie-Lan Nguyen (2011)