Sounion I

Venus clings to the

Waning Wolf-Moon,

Dressed in half its platinum mantle,

Yet gleaming as bright and sure

Beside the clear crisp

Stars of the dipper

That mark your skin,

Where my fingers danced

And my tongue skated,

As the night we made obscene prayers

And scandalous vows

At an altar of pot-sherds

And crumbled ivory stone,

Assumed the form and vigor

Of those discarded gods we praised,

Glossy sweat glinting

On shining bronze

And painted marble,

A gape-mouthed

Moaning-smile

Aflame on your face and mine,

As we followed

The map I made of your

Slickened legs,

And ascended,

Together,

To the apex of Olympus.