There is a sinuous, serpentine quality about you these days.

It is as if you are the elegant and crafty hero of an epic myth set in the ancient future.

You are sweeter and saucier than usual, edgier and more extravagantly emotive.

You are somehow both a repository of tantalizing secrets and a fount of arousing revelations.

She tastes like nectar and salt.

Nectar and salt and apples.

Pollen and stars and hinges.

She tastes like fairy tales.

Swan maiden at midnight.

Cream on the tip of a fox’s tongue.

She tastes like hope. (Bob Brezsny)