Last song about Aphrodite
The sun becomes an alarm clock,
and the alarm clock becomes a trifle.
Your face reminds
on the loaf of bread.
Aphrodite,
life denies you
that every height is a success.
Your catharsis
gives you the strength of a pencil.
You left the city
to look for a hat
with a sufficiently large shadow.
Stephen Gospage
Mon 22nd Feb 2021 17:13
I love the confidence and audacity of this poem.