A Vision of Aphrodite on the Shore
Here, in this mind of petty indignation.
Here in this place of stale bread
and salty tears, is an image
of a maiden warm, and intense, blood stains
her lips; an opiate calm enters her air,
When Ceres' heat comes, it screams
out from her passing by, the beauty within
Exile, sounds within the pattering
of sandals atop dipping sand.
The green dress fell like a burden
she was happy to give over to Artemis.
When she removes the band from
her hair, the wind smells of juniper,
the water swirls with brunette.
I would go to her in amour, with blood
stained lips, and mingle flesh.
Later,the wicker basket would overflow with
wine from Florence, a silk blanket brought in kind,
touching worry, would caress her form, (that the
Sun did not dare abuse), bringing gentleness to a
bare lithe wild flower.
Instead, I enter the waves of indignation, a mind
beaten with shards of glass, a throat scarred from
sorrowful sour mash. The night swallows the gulls,
and Victoria shimmers through the shadows, reflections
of the gems of life.
The thought of something lurking in the dark,
beneath the waves makes me think of Ulysses struggling,
to return loyal to his great amour.I find self-bereavement,
and choke down the waves of dark fear, I wonder if the sea
can taste the tears off my body, her green dress slithers
by my ear; I die under the gems of life.