Madame Mythos

Venus stopped being a Goddess
the first time you kissed my mouth
swollen and ripe, like an apple,
like Eve licking the juice off her lips
– she got discarded too when
I tempted you to have a taste of it.
In your bed you tell me
that my thighs have made you a believer
so thoroughly that I have crushed
Joan of Arc with the pale arch of my feet,
and to make it  complete,
you’d have come anywhere I called.
So in the night, when my face
launches a thousand ships
into your dreams,
Helen is not a name you can remember.
There is no one else here.
Only my body, bit by bit,
that doesn’t have enough legend
for the weight of it.

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