“Why should you wish to behold me?” he said. “Have you any doubt of my love? Have you any wish ungratified? If you saw me, perhaps you would fear me, perhaps adore me, but all I ask of you is to love me. I would rather you would love me as an equal than adore me as a god.”
— Thomas Bulfinch, The Age of Fable
calm my fast-beating reveler’s heart. cure me of my solitude. claim the curve of my hip — carve out the angles of your face in my mind’s eye. charm me with stories of the person you could be.
pierce my skin with your arrow in the darkest of night. pull my hips flush against yours. promise me everything and nothing. probe the depths of my psyche. place your lips on my ear and enunciate.
delight me with your rich baritone. douse me in desire. delude yourself, if you want, with talk of you and i — darling, there is no you and i. you draw me in not with the image of a man i’ve never seen, but with a vision of the woman i know i am for the first time.