Aphrodite or, Ode to Lube

Slick god that allows me to hold more than me,
silicone ocean that births love with sweet foam,
that leaves a stained fossil, a discolored circle
on the bedsheet, persistent memory of a night/
weekend morning/Tuesday afternoon/oily epoch
when I was a supplicant, when I prayed to be an
amphora dripping & slippery. O elastic, tidal love.
How many can I absorb? How many eyes, hands?
How many soft waves lapping the archipelago, how
many humid after-hours, aftermaths, after-the-panic-
attacks, after-the-fights over dishes & wedding plans?
How many Mes? How many Yous? How many Yeses?
How many new joys can we balloon & blossom to hold?
How many Manies? & Hows?       & then, how many more?

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