Aphrodite Burlesque

Somewhere out in the light, the goddess' face
most of what stabs my eyes with light. My tears
burn down my cheeks. We've been like this for years
or so it seems. The details of this place

are vague. A vast yet maze-confusing hall
where velvet tatters hang. Are those her dress?
Parts of her skin? I hardly want to guess
what she'll take off. The sultry drawl

with which she summoned me to watch her dance
let no refusal, but was full of threat
of painful things that have not happened yet.
Each time she calls me here, I take the chance.

To glimpse in mirrors fragments of desire
that chill to stone, heat beyond flame or fire.

Aphrodite Surgeon

They say my sudden smiles make me look young,
younger each week of love. They do not lie.
Half-seen behind loose hair, seductive eye
blinks, hints a smile, is gone. Swift darting tongue

checks lipline's contours. These things are the knives
with which she cuts and smooths, needles to stitch.
She takes age lines away, but leaves an itch
to have her carve our souls and change our lives

to be in love forever. Never write
except for songs of her, nor breathe save sighs
-orgasm or regret-, avert our eyes
from day's harsh facts, live in her dreamy night.

She tempts me so. I'll pay her surgeon's price
- once bankrupt in my heart, I'll risk it twice.