Bodies tangled like tonsils, two stones claiming space

Deep in our throats. My eyes met yours across vacant pews

In memory of unsacred chapels, those looks locked into arms race

of clenched toddler fists. And your grin unscrupled statues

The museum sign warned us not to touch. The ways

You feigned misunderstanding the language to ruse

The rules, to glide your palm over frozen stone thighs, to choose

Which parts of speech applied. I was your girl, your dazed

Petal footprint, your sworn-over silence. I was your rock, keeping tight

Secrets in French. I was not the museum guard but a guardian (still)

Of loose appetite. Saying Rilke lived here, wrote of light and dazzling white

Sculputres. Our bodies skewered towards hostel sex, minds angled to fill

Faithless hands, corset eyes. I needed someone to catch, someone to indict

You for turning me over. Sculpting desire into mountain you could not, quite.