You should not be what I want.
You whom I chose, my favourite of the gods,
as folds of white linen, I breathed in your scent
from the pages of a book, and fell in love.

I did not know that I would meet you,
You were meant to stay hidden
in the temple of my mind.
But there you were on the playground one day,
and I tried to shout, "You should not be what I want!"
but your hair caught in my mouth,
and buried me in your scent.
and all I could think of was laying a rose,
and gifts in brown paper at your altar.

Diana, I do not want to worship
your marble skin, as you kiss my cheek.
My love is promised to another,
one of flesh, who is warm to me.

Goddesses should not shine so brightly
in the corner of the eye.
They should be taught to be ugly, and locked behind pillars.
I will burn your altar down
and pray the smoke does not carry your perfume.
I should not be kissing marble.
My back should not be sore from bowing when you pass by,
trying to read the myths in the footprints you do not leave.
You are too pretty to; your head is in the stars.