You know the painting I mean –

two naked men stretched between
heaven and earth’s brilliant extremes

veins and muscles straining
to link limbs. And it continues
beyond the frame. The bodies writhe,
struggling to cancel struggle,
to be whole and single.

But who gets to make the breakfast?
And who gets the much-needed rest?
And round-two breaks
whose bloody heart?
                                                            Still
it is a free-for-all,
and when you see something you want
you climb up on his shoulders.

Or, one serene night in the shrubbery
he reveals himself. And you reassure
his hand before the door closes.

And tomorrow you break your heart
trying to remind him.