Mons Veneris

Mons veneris
like a
Roman burial
mound
for past
lovers
(killed
in battle),
not one
drop
of blood
spilt —
pound of
flesh,
selling point,
name
your
price. 


Venusian,
shell-birthed
and
pearlescent,
a glass
slipper –
unshatterable;
diamante crowned,
a dime
a dozen
glinting priceless
like some
forgotten goddess
temple —
a heathen heaven
between
two pillars
of beauty,


saltless,

nameless,

timeless.

The End

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