Aphrodite

He comes home late past the time she expects him,

He arrives as a storm of liquor, anger, and love.

She embraces him in warm, welcoming arms, ignores the familiar scents of whiskey and another woman’s perfume.

He grasps her arms to unwind the hug - vulnerability is not something

he subjects to.

He kisses her with his fists and bruises her with his words,

He transforms her body into a wonderland of art,

An image so spectacular nature is jealous.

Blues, purples, greens, so perfectly swirled together

Her legs resemble a seaweed- infused ocean.

He loves the turbulent sea, he loves making art, he loves transforming her helpless skin into his own canvas.

He groans the name Aphrodite while restricting her lungs; the only way he knows to honor his goddess.

Aphrodite, goddess of sexual rapture, loses her charm, falls limp, gasping for air.

He loves the sound she makes, like a young child who has held her breath for too long underwater. A memory from long ago.

“I am your Poseidon.” He suspends his trident over her head then

shackles her to his “love” and never lets her go -

Even she, Aphrodite, cannot break free.

She does not make beautiful waves of foam if she is silenced.