Eddie and whorls,
constant tides of
sweating humanity
surge around her
hallowed feet
as she stands there
helpless
yet proud,
sure of her femininity
the dream personified,
the phantasmagoria
of all red-blooded males
surging from all fair corners
of this ancient earth
they don’t mind
the temple fee,
the crush,
for the rush
of their own blood
supersedes
the clicks and whirrs,
as flashes
of fifty frames per second
preserve the memories of
caressing her cold flesh
from every majestic angle
conceivable…
as the air heats up,
with every new arrival
who can only think of the
moment her heavy robe
will finally slip down
leaving her proudly bare…
she can’t help a secret smile,
for she lost her arms
centuries ago
yet her robe holds up
like a flowing, inviting train
spiraling through time
waiting for it
to come to an end
when any god
would be proud
to marry her
as foolish mortals endlessly
stream around
caressing her the only way
they are allowed.