"This isn't you." ...isn't I, you say? do you want me fallen on my knees opium-dulled and gazing up at you with no dart-prick'd eyes yet a fire burning in my blood (running scarlet) say nothing -- I know the answer (oh, but don't we both?) you would never understand you could never gentle that inferno! you know not its name I yield -- but not to you. could you name all my secret desires? all my dark night whispers and glass-spun needs? bind fragile wrists behind my head, butterflied, with locks of my own hair coloured like bleeding garnets own me and make me yours linen skin and wide eyes the child-girl curled at your feet-- no? all well and good. for I am not yours, and never will be. within my flames, the fragile blossom curls and dies whenever you deign to touch me to make me yours-- I will never be yours. I belong to none. Call me whore, slut, Lust incarnate (maybe I am) I care not. my body is not your Bible, not your secret book my soul is not bound to you with nails or promises my heart and mind light years distant even if you tore my blood from me, I would not succumb to you thus I am the mandrake and the valerian the candle flame, the sunlight lypiféra dictating each move-- but never anything for you.