[My excuse for this experiment and its first chapter are in my entry from 20 January 2025 . . . and the image is a drawing by one of my sweetheart’s music students.]
I am ravished by the sight of your slippered feet, my dearest chieftainess! the contours of your limbs are the work of an expert lapidary.
Your navel is as absinthe in its glassware: your belly is as a sea of grain in the moonlight, adjacent to poppy fields.
Your breasts are like a pair of twin tigresses.
Your neck is like a missile silo of steel; your eyes as Bristol Bay in Southwest Alaska, near the Ruby Salmon Fishery: your nose is like the missile silo in Wyoming aimed at the old U.S.S.R.
Your head at the summit of you is as Vinicunca, and the hair on your head is as rhodium; the arcades have transfixed the president.
O my soulmate, so splendid and soothing, you are pleasure itself.
Before me now, your eminence resembles the tree in the midst of the garden, and your breasts are as bundles of ripe dates.
I said: I will approach the sacred tree, I will lift my arms and clutch its branches: at this time as well, let your breasts be likened unto the bundles gathered from the palm, with the scent of your nose as the zest of an orange; and the palate of your mouth as the finest coca leaves. A smooth dream luring its sleepwalker to murmur eloquence.
I belong to my soulmate; his libido is surging meward.
Come and let us step forth into the pastureland, O soulmate; let us sojourn in the hamlets.
Let us rise with the sun and visit the plantations; let us find out if the coca leaves are prospering, how the poppy pods appear, and whether the cantaloupes have ripened: there I will give you my loves.
In our storehouse are scented mandrakes, and every other available aphrodisiac: fruits from trees that are good for food, pleasant to the eye, and desirable also to make one wise. All these enjoyments I have stockpiled for you, my dear soulmate.
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