Botticelli’s Birth of Venus

Venus born from the lips of a mother clam.
Exalted on the foam of the sea.
Naked against Roman antiquity.
Comforted by a mother wave.
She is cool in a transparent dress of comfortable half tones.
So pate she stands in silent protest
Against the palette of Renaissance colourists.
Secrets are washed in with the tide
Upon vague shorelines.
Her pose, an inquiry into her alignment with the universe.
Chastely Venus stands hand covering a single white breast.
Hair like arms of the wind.
She stands in religious counterbalance.

Is it someone else in that seashell, An impostor masked in Venus attire?
John the Baptist is it you? Reborn in pearly splendor.

When daylight retires and paintings dim with dusk,
Hues tire, dull and sleep with the encroaching darkness.
Forms veiled by darkness hurry away from her painted
Dimension and move about in pagan dance,
Away from the sea, away from her allegory and into