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A cry rang out in the night
‘Damn it to Hades,’ he said, hopping
Ares had stubbed his toe on the
corner of the four-poster bed

The god of war, all powerful
in some situations, but still fallible
in the half-light of the
very early morning

Aphrodite raised her golden head from the
pillow, ‘why don’t use a light, my darling?
You know how clumsy you are.’
Sighing, she laid her head back down

The heavenly goddess dreamed of a bed
partner who does not snore quite so loudly
or exclaim in pain every time he shuffles
to the privy in the night. Even gods

suffer from small bladders. Eros wandered
past the door, on his way home from a
party, and heard the conversation for the
seventh time, at least.

In his bedroom, Eros flicked his mesh shirt
into the laundry basket and peeled off
his leather pants, before admiring his sweat
slicked body in the mirror.

Vanity was a weakness of his, perhaps
lustiness for himself also. A toilet
flushed down the hall, another cry
rang out as Ares kicked the bed again.