Lover:
In the morning when God has hope
that creation was not a mistake
I find food upon the ground
fallen from your lips.
Venus:
Small morsels of mouthed words
like the sweetest apples on the tree
picked with your hand
a soft palm on a ripe curve.
Lover:
Banquets of platitudes
like the epicures of effete elite
snapped from trees of plush gold apples
to replenish the imaginations of sleepy goddess.
You are more to me than even myths.
Venus:
Your vitality is richer
than the fallen fruited words
of Gods and ancient poets
you feed me, from your silken veins
Bacchus pours the wine from your lips
sated dreams enchant me.
Lover:
Embouchures clasped round reeds.
Lips pursed in pink rondelets
of mobius strips of songs that
have no end, filling my head
with your words - drunken delirious.
Venus:
I cannot choose sobriety
from this hedonistic blush
this sensate bliss bleeds the greenest sap
rising from the mighty branches
that quiver on the panes
of my sleeping eyes.
Cupid:
You two are not free
To choose to be
Anything but bound
To sweetest sound
Deepest drunken dreams
Love bursting at seams
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