.venus

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Venus broke the night. She sucked back the stars
and started to shine with her own brightness. Sick
of cold equations and mathematical divisions, all
these diametric fixations, she preyed for a collision;
for the moon to tap into the craters beneath her fingernails.
This, she called The Pruning - the sculpting of Edens
out of satellites and solar winds, wound round her sides.

She's tithed to her own tides, moodswung as a river
cut through her insides. She's happiest when her blood
is flooded with lovers swept into her depths, sunk into
astral sockets and crater lakes. Dreamdrunk on Venus'
sweet venom, bloated with pride, they float with the tide
as it seeps in, and take their place beneath her skin.
Feeding her Edens' deep sleep in their terra of love.

But alone, she sits and counts on fibreglass fingers,
interlocked in herringbone knots, and the loveless
dove tales of each pigeon-toed goddess. Solo,
she splinters no night, just whispers like a morning scar.

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