'Aphrodite' - Personal Poetry

 
Her name he laid before my feet
in a whisper veiled a gift,
and by what veil might I mask my
amusement and contempt?
such words to pass, tumbling
from the jester's lips
no other would this wine sate
but the fool himself,
yet he had me for a night and a day
haunting the temples he wove in my name
taking to tithe his visage and facade,
to humor that I might have stolen her place,
by way, or by grace,
and so stolen a taste
of the machine's admiration,
gods beseeched!
I took his words for wine,
and their emptiness for meat,
until my mouth and hands were stained
with the discolors of his feast,
and all the visions of ambrosia
in the name laid before my feet