When I was in Europe I swarmed to the bodies of the Greek Goddesses Stroked their stone stomachs in awe And their legs touched like mine did And their noses protruded out into the Heavens
I always loved what I was not. Salivating over the plate of starvation
Until I stood next to Venu’s headstone Her corpse basking in all that is light
The cracks and fractures of history The dents where humans worshiped too forcefully Her body; sacramental bread And her blood like lipstick on a wine glass
I wondered if she ever felt beautiful If she loved what was not and could never be? Did her reflection mock her? Did the sword of Damocles dangle above her throne?
I found it strange how a symbol of beauty could possibly look like me How I could love her but I never could love myself?
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