The Return of Eros

I’ve grown accustomed to my own face,
accustomed to my same old body.
Not a trace

of lewdness in my choice
of activities, one of which is writing.
I’ve grown accustomed to the voice

of Publius Ovidius Naso, considered a hard case
in his day,
exiled to the city of Constanza,

Black-Sea port north of Thrace
and Bulgaria. Augustus banished
Ovid’s accustomed ass

for lewdness, at about the same
time Marc Anthony was lamenting, “All my smooth body!”
What a waste

of feline beauty, old Snake-
of-the-Nile, Cleopatra—last sighting
of the Goddess’s face

for over two thousand years—bright trace
of lust in her marble eyes.
I’ve grown accustomed to the face
of Qetesh.