I wanna see Aphrodite with rosy pink hair and cheeks to match stepping out of the sea and the water flowing down thunderous thighs.
I want to see Demeter with ample hips and a tummy, carrying in the harvest that she’s damn well going to eat.
I want to see Hera as a short, stocky hispanic woman who has six kids under her feet and rules her household with a fair but cast iron skillet.
I want to see Artemis with an athlete’s body; sprinting swift through the mountains with runners calves and biceps/triceps that can punch you through drywall.
I want more thick goddesses.
Tag: teeth
From marble
They’ve all been beautiful- in their own way.
Beautiful like peaches
or almonds, or milk.
Like fawns, like birds, like stone.
terrifying and pacifying
Beautiful.
But He,
He is jasmine flowers and converse on cold concrete,
cherubs and soldiers of God
He is black marble and molten gold
A lion, my wolf.
He, elusive in the dark, beside me ephemeral
He is dark eyes and dark hair and words words words.
My Achilles in every way, the Hypnos to my Eris
Adonis carved from marble, strong straight jaw
Galatea warmed to flesh, curved perfect lips
Made in the image of Eros, My Rome.
He doesn’t know he’s art.
How to write destruction
Chapter I.
Hello, it isn’t me you’re looking for
Chapter II.
Elbow deep in your chest cavity
Chapter III.
Exposing your sins
Chapter IV.
Are you scared yet
Chapter V.
Nothing left
Chapter VI.
Did you miss me?
Untitled
I. Sunflowers
Your favorite flowers follow the sun,
and you’re lost following yourself
Uphill, downtown past little aqua houses
Little studio apartments,
At dawn warm bodies, hot coffee,
red bridges over cold bays, and housekeys on a lanyard
II. Meet me where the train tracks end
We’ll have sweet red wine while the nights are still warm
One star overhead and grass wet under our feet,
cigarettes rolled with rainbow pastel powdered fingers
throwing up heady clouds of exactly what we’re not allowed to smoke
Sharing blood and bruises between the two of us
like black liner, blue shadow, and red lipstick
Tequila mockingbirds with sketchbooks in our bags
and knives in our boots