Aphrodite's Model

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594 words
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The cat slept in the crook of your knee.
His fur - rich and tawny -
Pressed against your skin.
With his legs tucked neatly under his chin
His sleep (like yours) look perfect and abandoned.
Though what excuse could he extend?
Unlike us, he'd not been active through the night.
Where'd he been when we'd come in?
Somewhere observant but safely hidden,
Not at all trusting of strange men.

Me, I stood in the early morning glow,
Drained of sleep, lost in shadow.
My eyes admired the cat and you -
So special a sight, I thought, deserved some memorial,
Such as a sculptor of old gave his love
When he made her Aphrodite's model.
Surely you deserved better, though,
Than my words' feeble best!
Spent as I was, still I made the attempt.
The bed I'd just left became the earth,
You ruled it as a half revealed continent.
In my head, my words sketched a forecast:
"North-south cloud cover breaks against the breasts,
Then spreads white across plain and valley
(Expect heat and high humidity in those tropical regions)
And on over thigh and southwestern highlands.
The east has clear skies and such wildfire conditions
As may require emergency evacuations.
Across your face a second system lies,
Red and lacy, lit by sunrise."
And if you opened your eyes?
Twin cities, promising urban life and surprise.
You murmured and shifted, that was too easy -
An earthquake surely.
What was I in this tired fancy?
At best a satellite, a failed launch more likely,
Either way soon to reenter, a burning fatality.
What theory could explain your gravity?
And the cat, how did he fit in?
Is art found in beauty or in its construction?
Your eyes opened, all collapsed before them,
Just my silly pretend,
The life of the mind must crash in the end.
You said,
"Quit mooning about and get back in bed."

We'd met that night at the company party.
We made fun of the casino with its excited gamblers
Who took betting with funny money way too seriously.
We complained about how there was no place to sit.
We complained about the band,
How loud it was, how bad and how bland,
And ridiculed the single dancing couple,
"Like who are they? ringers from the hotel I bet."
"How would you organize a holiday party?"
"Everyone would sit and discuss a serious subject
Then perhaps we'd recite some poetry."
"How could the planning committee
Have missed an idea like that?
What would your poem be?"
"'The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea...'"
"Oh, love poetry, here's my favorite:
'Grow old along with me, the worst is yet to be'".
"Such poetry, according to Austin,
Is quite useful in curing one of passion."
We played some roulette
And after an expensive drink or two, we danced.
Every savage can dance, at least when fortified by gin.
We left together early,
Life, right then, just felt great.

Now, as I sit and try to write,
You call down the stairs: "It's late,
Stop mooning about and come to bed."
I give it up, my words, proving weak, have fled.
I let the cat out the door,
He's our latest and likes to hunt at night.
I warn: "Rain's forecast, it's gonna pour."
He looks back from the walk
His eyes reflect the light.
These lines have failed, I'll try no more.
And that sculptor, when he'd finished,
When he'd polished the last bit,
I'm sure he wept,
Because the art remained in him
And not in it.

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GuiltyPleasureGuiltyPleasureabout 15 years ago
Hello

Just letting you know your poem is mentioned in todays review.

Tess

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