To Cupid, With Love, Your Mother
[ Kris Ann Valdez ]

Statue of a Crouching Venus, Unknown Maker

You’re a winged creature

with flimsy bow and arrow quiver.

Cherub-child you play at

the game of desire.

But who taught you love, little god?

Who let you run your fingers

in the indents of her belly?

Lean against her squatting frame?

****

I was born of frothed sea,

The blonde nymph;

Formed in the heave of wave.

To them I am the

god of seduction,

of poison and fertility.

****

But where, I ask, did you learn

to make others so happy?

If not in my soft arms,

Cradled at my breasts,

Breathing the spice of my skin?

****

They named me erotica,

Sculpted, painted me, naked.

I was their viewing pleasure.

And you, pissing on my leg,

Pure minges, brought them luck.

Against the dark curtain,

Setting sun, I snatch your bow.

Winged creature, you cry and wail,

But I am patient, smiling tender.

There’s still so much to teach you of love.

Venus and Cupid, Lorenzo Lotto

Venus Disarming Cupid, Paolo Veronese