Antique
Gracious son of Pan! Around your forehead crowned with flowerets and with laurel, restlessly roll those
precious balls, your eyes. Spotted with brown lees, your cheeks are hollow. Your fangs gleam. Your breast is like a lyre, tinklings
circulate through your pale arms. Your heart beats in that belly where sleeps the double sex. Walk through the night, gently moving that
thigh, that second thigh, and that left leg.
