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.
