Venus In Manhattan

The day that Venus touched my hand

The night was dark upon the land;

The wind was very chill and grim

And the streetlights’ respites scarce and slim.

As her fingers met with mine

I longed for them to intertwine.

I held on tight as she let go.

How chill and grim the wind did blow!

I asked her why she ran away

But, no longer present, she’d naught to say.

And as I stood there all alone

I realized she stole my phone.

Venus, it seems, knew the pickpocket’s art

But knew not that she stole my heart.

So I launched “Find my iPhone”

And followed with a heart of stone

The steps to find my mobile and

The Venus who had touched my hand.

Down I followed many miles

Towards the thief and all her wiles,

Past the park and through the woods

And into shady neighborhoods

Until upon the spot came I

Where Apple said “Your phone’s nearby,”

And there I saw her, Queen of Love,

My iPhone held with woolen glove.

Her fingers danced light as can be

As she stole my identity.

I called out “Venus, I am Joe!”

She shrugged as if to say “I know.”

Then she shot me in the face

With majestic and transcendent grace.

As I descended to the dead

Her visage filled what was left of my head.

And on that dark and stormy night

When Venus’s left hand touched my right…

That hand which held the fated gun

Which well-ensured my life was done…

And whence the chill, grim wind had blown

I learned the downside of testosterone.

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