1
A large man with the head of a bull
sits on the right side of the etching.
He is draped in white linen; his powerful
chest is bare; on his left thigh
a colossal penis begins
to stir. He gazes with longing
and incomprehension at the naked
woman in the left foreground,
who is lying on a couch. Her breasts
look succulent, the curve of her hips
an invitation to a voyage
beyond the senses. She is full-face,
staring out at us, brazenly,
with no desire, and in total
awareness of her sexual power.
The minotaur’s hairy left hand
absentmindedly grips a wine glass.
He feels drunk with her nakedness, her beauty.
If he can’t find a way, soon,
of expressing how much he hates her,
there is no telling what he’ll do.
2
The figure of a youth. Lovely,
an Apollo with large, sad eyes.
In his hair twines a wreath of laurel.
Another wreath twines around
the bust he has made, which sits
on a column, as tall as he is.
He is resting his hand, the one
with the sculpting-knife, on the edge.
The bust is in profile, almost
double life-size, inhuman,
serene, with a high-arched nose
and an unpupiled eye set far back
in its face. It is turned
toward the sad-eyed young sculptor.
Its marble lips, slightly parted, seem
to be telling him something.