Aphrodite

15

I spend my days on a quest for your love,

The way you promised you would spend your days loving me.

I can't find it.

It's not obvious, the way it once was.

There are no sparks in your kiss.

The life in your eyes has dulled.

Your touch is hostile and, if not that, undesiring.

Why don't you want me, my love?

I've scrubbed every hair on my head for you,

Smiled, for I couldn't help it,

And I thought you adored my smile.

I've bought and watered carnations, endless carnations in endless colors:

Blue, for my perpetual longing;

Purple, for my conflicted, anxious mind;

Red, to complement your bursts of anger;

Pink, to remind us of things that once were.

The dye runs into the water, the color and life steadily draining away.

But, darling, if it's something new you want, I can provide it.

I can change.

I can cleanse myself in the Ganges,

Lather myself with incense,

Present my naked body to you as an offering,

Remain silent, kneeling at your feet until my legs go numb

And blood creeps onto the stone floor;

Impale myself and light a fire underneath me

So that you may cook and devour my repentant flesh.

I can be quieter; I can be louder.

I can be cooler; I can be warmer.

I can leave you alone; I can cling to your waist.

I can be harder; I can be softer.

I can do anything; I can do nothing.

I can keep my composure; I can lose all control.

I can be needy; I can be needless.

I can collect stars for you,

Imprison them in jars.

Swallow a rock from Saturn's rings,

Bedazzle myself with the remains of a comet.

Inhale sunbeams,

Wrap my arms around the moon and haul it all the way from space to you.

Would that be enough to receive your love?

You must change with the weather,

For you shower me with tenderness one day

And, the next day, leave me dry,

Scorching me with your deceit, your temper.

I watch the clock and stare out the window, the dull rumble of worry distorting my heartbeats.

The stars never shine when I'm alone like they do when you're with me.

There's a different kind of passion in your body when you fuck me.

It's competitive, resentful, unkind.

I trace over your whip in my languid sorrow.

The ends are fraying, the coil is not as smooth.

The sound it makes in the air is eerily threatening

As I desperately whip myself in your absence.

Is my love not sacred to you?

Something must be wrong with it,

Otherwise your eyes wouldn't tell me you want to snap my neck

Every time I look into them.

But you don't look at me, anyway.

You're always too occupied looking at other things,

Other bodies.

You loved me so dearly, once.

Why not simply tell me that you don't anymore?

I can't keep searching for something that doesn't exist.

Yet, here I am.