Old Venus, neolithic,
Tucked in a wad of plastic –
Lungs and loins heave in
Greeting as you go
Up in smoke.
You were my worst mother
In hindsight,
Your crooked finger beckoning me
To rest my head on hotel pillows,
My body on gurneys.
My musings of phalluses and armpits
Do me nothing as I shrink and
Reel myself back into the same
Earthen mouth, wet and hungry,
That I’ve always known would
Kill me in the end.
© 2018 BENJAMIN SMITH
