And I raise you Jimmy.
He just oozes sexuality. Look at what he's doing with his lips. I sense a gay-crush coming on.
"One afternoon, red, satyr-thighed
Michael, the Irish setter, head
Passionately lowered, led
The child I was to a shut door. Inside,
Blinds beat sun from the bed.
The green-gold room throbbed like a bruise.
Under a sheet, clad in taboos
Lay whom we sought, her hair undone, outspread,
And of a blackness found, if ever now, in old
Engravings where the acid bit.
I must have needed to touch it
Or the whiteness—was she dead?
Her eyes flew open, startled strange and cold.
The dog slumped to the floor. She reached for me. I fled."
James Merrill [March 3, 1926 – February 6, 1995]
p.s.
Beloved Head Tamponette: not all of us can sit around all day posting moos-tashes. I try. I really do. But you're a tough act to follow/keep up with.
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