χρυσοστέφαν᾿ Ἀφρόδιτα 

Aphrodite! It’s Stephanie. I’m not asking much. 
At least I don’t think so, though I can hardly trust 
myself to judge my own case. That’s why I’ve lit 
five candles, and scattered the dust of one rose petal 
before the slim makeup mirror you call an altar. 
I am, even at my age, a fleshly creature. 
How can you help me kindle reciprocal fire? 
Why do my friends, when I ask them, tell me just 
what I want to hear?  
                                      I’d half rather slit 
my wrists than go on imploring, with no one to touch 
or take me in her warm arms: and yet I’ve let all 
these words engulf me, a nonstop talker 
and never a lover, everyone’s trustworthy teacher, 
wrapped up in white professional attire, 
always a pen in my hand, and never a peer.