I didn’t come in the
natural order of things
- infidelity sits well
with my pursuer -
our love is carved
from stone left spare,
while she is the rock
he builds himself on.

I had my own ways
before we two met
- I have long been
angular and jutting -
though others may say
I cleave to his side,
we both know to
whom we belong.

These walls are as
solid as marble
- my hands will lie
idle for thirty years -
but he would swallow
me up, pin me down,
so I have been given
asylum near Avignon.

* The sculptors Camille Claudel and Auguste Rodin were lovers for a number of years