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Venus
There's
something sculpted
about you;
statue-like, perfect.
Aloof with
the cool confidence
of a monarch.
Your gaze,
it cuts through me
with a cold heat;
unseeing, uncaring.
Am I not here,
or your regard
doesn't fall so
low
I can't be here,
for you don't
see me
fall to my knees.
Cupid's switched
his bow and quiver
for a .50 caliber.