I've written a hymn before for Mercury conjunct Venus, but that was in Aries II, where their fire played off of one another, and where the energy was the sort of partnership that got to act with Three of Wands energy. Now we get to play with that same energy in a more ribald way, with fluid exchange instead of merely intellectual energy, in the part of Cancer associated with the Two of Cups.
Ahem.
The chart itself is interesting at 8:29 am EDT on 17 June 2024, with Mercury and Venus in a separating trine to the Moon — who is in Scorpio in the fourth house, the place of desire and genital-to-genital contact, at home. Venus is in her own decan here, the Mother and Child, and a daytime triplicity ruler of water — giving her considerably more authority in this placement than usual. However, the conjunction takes place for us East Coasters in the US in the 12th house, reminding us of Woody Allen's dictum, being bisexual doubles your chances of sleeping alone on Saturday night. There may be a vision of love without limits here, but there's a strong risk of not playing it cool. Note also that there's a loose square to Neptune in Pisces in the eighth house, which feels a lot like captain Picard reminding us that it's possible to do everything right, and still lose — we celebrate the conjunction for the vision it holds up for us... and we acknowledge that we must be unattached to results.
Mercury conjunct Venus in Cancer
Hail to you, prince, bearing letters of love,
scribed oaths of devotion and commitment,
while you, heaven's beauty, recline above,
on a couch of amorous contentment.
The lovely youth makes their desires known,
with sexy banter, risqué dialogue,
and images of nakedness implied;
but as yet, nothing scandalous is shown,
and nothing's appeared on a public blog,
and nobody's been taken for a ride.
It's possible someone will get ghosted:
one will stop texting, and never respond
to puzzled messages. Have they boasted
to their friends, who told them "don't get too fond"?
Did their feet get cold? What made them afraid?
For now, though, the notes come fast and heavy —
creative speech, wet with urgent longing.
letter by letter, their lines start to braid,
as teasing entendre becomes fleshy,
and chitchat runs from midnight to dawning.
Maybe it's more — the rash invitation
to shimmy up the drainpipe and presume
to play, bare-skinned, with acts of creation
in the narrow bed of her private room.
Maybe they breakfast sitting hand in hand,
twining their fingers while coffee gets cold;
maybe he slips off when birds start to sing.
Maybe his promise will be her gold band,
when the story at their funerals is told —
the letters that became a wedding ring.
No comments:
Post a Comment