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