Ode to Some Aphrodite or Another
by Benjamin Norman Pierce

what word may I paste to your foam-born bone and form?       
Helen or Lenore,
like a lioness or a light
like some dusk-astirred Helen
launching ships from out her own bosom
assailant of some snoring Elsinore,
coiling seeking serpent-she,
foam-born,
climbing battened towers
scorned and seeking undine mounting drunken seaside towers;
woo'ed by might and words of honey,
                  birthing to strength what yet dies young
                   birthing to strength that heart that tender deers
                                                                          or wily-praising scapegoats
                                                                               may but briefly ransom:

what word might glide on your skin so well
as some gown your drowning wove
as some dew clinging to you where crawled covertly to know
where your foot might have trampled and your eye disdained with ancient license;
what word is foam enough to flow and skin enough to stay upon you?