In every goddess lies a whore,
clearly articulating her queenly pollen
on each of the night’s petals,
while these, withering,
carry her gaze towards the ground.
A whore searching in the heat of candle light
for reasons to leave her marble pedestal
suddenly too big and cold
and smelling like too many hands
each loaded with other and other wishes.
The converse is also valid.
In every whore lies a goddess
for whom seconds are the utmost poison,
especially when in each of her blast-birthing moves
one can glimpse the need for sky and for rain.
In each whore lies a butterfly
waiting for its metamorphosis,
which keeps being delayed
by every chrysalis paid by the hour at the hotel.
© 2015 Liliana Negoi
originally written in Romanian