The lumpy couch and too-thin blanket may be no match for my ardor, for it still threatens, as embers do, to burst forth into a concupiscent conflagration at the slightest whispering breath from your lips. The pin-prick of light shines from within me, across the distance like some unnamed star, continually on progress through the skies. Here. There. Now within your orbit, now winking out of your sight, out of your mind. World that I were a sun and not a moon. Then you’d see me daily. Were you a man of water, I might affect you more forcefully, but your feet are firmly mired down, clay-bound. And so I lie here, starlight in my breast, twinkling unseen.
Image credit: Tarot: The Star