Venus in Taurus

She of the green throne and copper crown

Draped in comb-thickened honey and myrtle

She whose pulse is the heartbeat of orchards and the slow unfurling of roses 

She speaks in the language of roots and silk

Around Her the air grows rich with fragrance

Her breath a perfume of rose and ambered milk

To Her, the fields bow in quiet devotion – wheat bending, blossoms opening, rivers engorging

In Her gaze, all hungers are made holy 

By Her grace, the raw clay of flesh remembers it was once divine

Venus in Taurus – the growing pulse of verdant beauty, the golden mouth of the earth held open