When shall I present myself to you, so that we can deal with those insistent lusts? Of course, I'll defer to my elder...
When? There are only two times of worth, now and then. This is now. If then should knock at our door, don't fret. You'll know what it is to greet it.
Well, now is an impossibility. Is it so wrong for me to think about a then when I am satisfied? It does no harm for me to negotiate for that then now, does it?
And yet can Chronos be swayed by the softly pleading voice? Is not time the great leveler that makes dust of both emperor and swine? Can you negotiate with a river? Do your words halt the tides? Such things are such as they are. So think of then, by all means, and think of it with fond heart and swift hands, but do not doubt that time will be only as time is wont to be.
You're delightfully evasive, but in your evasion you've laid out my path for me. I can see that my considerable charms shan't work across this imperfect format, where you have time to collect yourself and consider and resist the intoxicating delight I can provide. So, like a grubby Orpheus, I'll plead my case in person, and hope that the enchantment I weave is enough to override your reticence.
By all means plead, sweet Orpheus. I'm sure you'll do it well. Speak to me of then, and bear the fragile dream of fire against the cold earth of control.
What contest that? I am fire, youth and beauty both in frenzied, sensual union. The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and though I may not be long for the world at the rate I live, I do burn brightly. But the fires of my flesh are sweet, my breath is hot, and my voice aches to cry out your name. Will you not forsake the cold earth for this? You would be mad not to.
Is it madness? Or duty? Earth's nature is to last, to stay. It is not given to hold and then release. Could you bind your flame to earth? Be the molten heat of the planet's desires?
No.
The road is closed, the door is barred. So dance for me, little slip of flame. If nothing else, the earth is watching.
Little slip? Were I as brittle and stubborn as the earth, I might be offended. But fire consumes, it does not begrudge. Alas, the heat of my passions may wane as I dance for you, were I left to burn too long without fuel. I cry out for some sign that these violent delights will have violent ends, for without that sign, I burn without cause.
Anything?
