Aphrodite’s Last Acolyte
You skimmed in on a pearl pink shell, left us bobbing
in the wake of your breasts. There was no party
until there was you. In the wings we all
snapped to — readying your next costume change,
topping off your drink, even pulling a disapproving face
when you needed that, too. One guy just blew
the wind so your hair was always off your shoulders.
Love means never having to say you’re sorry
love means saying sorry so often. I’m sorry
I can’t say aloud your real name, curled in my mouth
like a mint leaf, crushed between my gentle teeth.
Your false name, the one you gave to me, to anyone
who had hands open to receive, pushes out
from my mouth like a swollen tongue.about the author