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| Torso of Venus, 1920, bronze, Aristide Maillo Columbus Museum of Art |
Venus whispers through limbs in the ash;
charts the path of twinkle, twinkle, little.
Yet so much.
What are you like?
Sleep becomes a nuisance.
I pace the ceiling, press warm footprints
to the windowpane, count the night
on her glow-in-the-dark rosary,
string it bead by bead across the sea.
Her morning eye watches from a headless torso,
holds me, transfixed.
My goddess of love and war devotes herself
to the small hours,
offers me your kiss.
She is darling,
but not as dear as you.
