The surface is to the appearance,
as the doing, to the seeing,
      the deed, to the scene.
So began my disquisition.

To the eye, she was a beautiful body,
a structure of planes and masses,
      of weight and light.
I told her this, of course.

To the hand, she was a delicate soul,
a texture of passage and resistance;
      a tangle of flesh.
I tried to show her this was so.

"You're overthinking it," she said.
"There is no perfect resolution
      of desire and intention.
No angel here will intervene.

Let us put these beautiful bodies
where our mouths are.
Let us look back on this
                  like pillars of salt."