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[penguinboy.livejournal.com]

The Gods

The statues of Greek gods
In the storage room of the art school
Where I led Pamela by the hand,
Or was it she who led me?
Nibbled my ear, while I raised her skirt.

Identical Apollos held identical
Empty hands. Poor imitations,
I thought. They belong in a window
Of a store going out of business
On a street dark and desolate.

That's because my eyes were closed
Long before they were open again.
It was night. There was still light,
Enough to tell their nakedness from ours,
But I couldn't figure where it came from,
And how long it meant to stay.

by Charles Simic