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Can’t immortalize a god, but this queen likes

her likeness in verse, paint, cobblestone, spume.

For those who live forever, it’s important to get

Olympic in the popularity contest. The aetiology of

humans and art thus explains. No moon orbits

with cautionary tale, yet Venus, radiant in gold

tweed, sucks oysters until they quiver then chucks

the bustled shells to a gossip of swans. Witness

how with delicate umbra plump curve of lip peaks

when her fatale maw shucks a doe-eyed

challenger’s silhouette. Venus luminous. Venus

shadow bans. Heart’s blood her satin train bleeds

to a red carpet as she, morning starlet leading the

wedding party through the hydraulic press of night,

coal-stokes that beating furnace in your chest.

Eloping lovers strip in a potting shed at her behest,

raising their albedo into a runaway greenhouse effect.

Call it veneration. Call it need. Know it’s real love

because it’s inconvenient. Altar boys like aspidistra

satellites left in morning star limn, tolerant of neglect,

are confirmation that nice ones finish last. Good

girls rarely do. Free will and venereal hubris. Depressed

coronae caught by flash under the influence of someone’s

desire to die for you, but a high engagement rate means they’ll

be married soon. Feel the burn of good branding in flesh,

her active touch barely visible to the naked eye, even given

the gift of user insight. Pregnant silence births June-less

union. Stone bride, hasta la vista, hasta caelibaris loosely pinned

in her hair, bows before the scalloped margin domes

of the goddess’ cooled magma throne. Venus in vistas.

Venus decreed, with downturned palms the pearls that

bless future broods will flood with a feed of burst

persimmon a fragrant emblem of phosphine. Birthed

volcano with the toxic tart of sulfuric acid, our celestial

body of a lady aflame, eye-clung carnivorous Venus

thirst trap has no tectonic to post to, when the tesserae

backscatter chalk-stains her protégé’s hands in primordial

plaster. Mysterious beauty spot the farra on cheek.

Elitist megapascals. Supercritical heat. Galatea

and Pygmalion ocean-heave, wreathed in rose.

Does love crush so hard you can no longer breathe?


image: Willow Little