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Claiming Venus Maria Criselda Santos


Foam-borne Milo-bound naked in Titian’s glory, you stole their hearts using another Helen and gave them Galatea. Men know you by many names,


for you can never be contained, Vanas erupting from the core.


Few kneel at your altar


as opposed to those who ravage your chaste temple. You launched a million arrows that many would dare catch and bleed themselves with. Suppose you were named otherwise you would not see


love in the most obvious flaw, nor metaphorize yourself into words others would be dying to read. At times you are within reach, then you suddenly disappear to the heavens, unknown you are heaven itself to those who have you. And when you finally let yourself go in Pygmalion-fashion, you let yourself be touched. Held. Loved.


W PAGE 33 ∙ Year I ∙ Issue #1


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