Why is it that Rodin’s masterpieces are still the idols of artistic awe
Because his touch has become the prototype found in all beauty
Like in the sculpted dance of a priceless angel
Where we’re both inside her every movement
Because her movements are like Brahmsian symphonic tides
As she dashes up like a fleeting gazelle
Then disappearing into a whirling watercolor of grandeur
Dropping again so that I may worship her finessed buttocks
For this voluptuous libertine of masterly form is the reach of all creation
Like his “Eternal Spring” where my eyes and her epicure embrace passionately
And I revere her name
Which means magnificence
Magnussen
