stack of (fiction)

We were riding the rainbow flash
of post-splendor smiles and sighs,
breathing hard and giggling,
marveling in our shared power to please.

The tables shook and the sky opened,
she stared down at us, our mouths agape.
"I'm pleased," she said, "and you do me great honor."
I clutched Mary's hand and stayed perfectly still.

Time? What is time? We slept,
awakening to find a normal room.
Mary sat up, her breasts bearing lines
from the folds in the sheets.

"Did Aphrodite speak to us?" I asked,
"or was that just the garlic from dinner,
causing a curious dream?"
Such is the way of goddesses, here and gone.

Over grapefruit and poached eggs,
we made our plans for the day:
house blueprints, stack of mail,
dry cleaning, market, blueberry picking.

I'm pleased.