The Synodic Cycle of Venus

 

 

It was an abstract thought

Then

As a circle

As a snake eating its own

Tail

It became loving

In search of

Its own

Love

 

I did not get lost

In the corridors

Of the heart

Of memories

And of ruins

Where gardens once

Made lilac wine

And jasmine

Ambrosia

 

In the language

Of wondering eyes

Words shaped like

The present

Erased the last stanza

Where Promises were left

On an old pillow

And morning coffee

Tasted

Like yesterday’s brew

 

It was an abstract thought

Before it crumbled

Like an unbaked dough

Left on the counter

Like a sacrifice

Upon the granite

Alter

Of expectations

 

And in that elliptic

Language of

The eyes

I remembered

The entrance way

To the corridors

That once led

To catacombs

Where the Green Fairy

Was drank

Was drunk

And lost

Her way

 

In the steps

Of

A

Dance

 

October 28, 2026

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2026