by AnnaRae Costa
“The men surreptitiously visited her shine tab night, and stains discovered on Aphrodite’s marble thighs betrayed their lust.” – Adrienne Mayor
Something derived from skin
But lacks the living
Man stains the porcelain
The marble
The bronze
It could even be gold
None the matter to them
No price is better than sex
She gives love
Which Man took as lust
No love is worth the appeal of a beautiful women who cannot
Talk
Think
Or feel
Her thighs carved with care Looking like skin
Soft, but Herculean
Only to be ruined
By the stains of men
Her purpose wiped away
Gone in an instant
All because of what Man calls
Passion
But what we call Violation
How does Man still manage to even violate Goddesses?
There is no end.
There is no safety.
A statue can’t call for help.
Not that it would even matter
Is this what being women means, is this love?