If I am Venus, born from bloodshed,
risen up to ideal beauty
sexualized under man's tongue,
and you are Mars,
threading fire between your palms;
idealized in man's image,
then we are one: in the deepest crevices
of my porcelain skin,
you find your way with heat and flame
though my fragility is constant.

Still

I missed you once in the lamp shade of the dusk,
in the rooms that held water like a camel
walking through the desert sun.
There in twilight I grasped the stubble of your face
and you carried me to secret tombs of gritty skeleton
bodies in a catacomb of mistrust--
you carried me home where glittering dragonflies
spun around open flames.
I missed you once in the sticky sweat of our southern youth,
in the dust and the cautionary rain.
Still I search beyond the rosebuds of your memory's eyes
to awaken faux stardust in the steamy suburban sidewalk.
And yet, we lie awake untrusted.
Still I search the capillaries of your chest
for a budding promise of love hidden
between pipe's exhaust and newborn brain-stem.