The Rapture of the River Boy
Who am I? I can tell you many, many things. I am beauty. I am truth. I am a mortal, who is worthy of ambrosia. I am the golden boy. I am Narcissus.
My mother is goddess, my father is a poet. I am worthy of everyone, but no one is worthy of me. The Goddesses want me, and the Gods hate me. Tell me is that enough for an answer, because they always want more, and I can give it.
My skin is the union of milk and honey, gold and warm like the sap, but soft and smooth like the liquid. It is a blanket of gilded flesh wrapped about my body. It is the earth and sky above it. I have the skin of my mother and father. My mother's skin is smooth and cool like the waters of her river, as is mine. My father's skin is warm and golden, as is mine.
My hair is lion's mane if woven wheat. It curls like Alexander's, and is softer than the silks of India. My crownet gold is halo about my brow in the sun, and in the moonlight, it is a white cap of diamonds glowing on the sea. It brushes my brow, and teases my ears and shoulders.
My eyes are orbs of fiery liquid. They are sky blue orbs floating on pools of silver mercury. My eyes are deep and enigmatic, they seduce the goddesses, and strike fear in the gods. They blaze with a fire of passion, and gaze with a striking glare. All look in to my eyes and recoil with emotion, whether be it fear or desire.
You can see every muscle in my body, but I am no Heracles, with rippling arms and legs. My body is smooth and streamline, thin, but not starved. It is powerful and tall. My body is a temple, prone to decay and tear, but is the most beautiful temple, the most beautiful body in the entire world.
My soul is a god, trapped in a body destined to die. I seek myself in the waters of a stream. But the blind prophet foresaw that my beauty will destroy me, but it is more than worth it. I would rather die young and beautiful, than old and decayed.
Who am I? I can tell you many, many things. I am beauty. I am truth. I am a mortal, who is worthy of ambrosia. I am the golden boy. I am Narcissus.
My mother is goddess, my father is a poet. I am worthy of everyone, but no one is worthy of me. The Goddesses want me, and the Gods hate me. Tell me is that enough for an answer, because they always want more, and I can give it.
My skin is the union of milk and honey, gold and warm like the sap, but soft and smooth like the liquid. It is a blanket of gilded flesh wrapped about my body. It is the earth and sky above it. I have the skin of my mother and father. My mother's skin is smooth and cool like the waters of her river, as is mine. My father's skin is warm and golden, as is mine.
My hair is lion's mane if woven wheat. It curls like Alexander's, and is softer than the silks of India. My crownet gold is halo about my brow in the sun, and in the moonlight, it is a white cap of diamonds glowing on the sea. It brushes my brow, and teases my ears and shoulders.
My eyes are orbs of fiery liquid. They are sky blue orbs floating on pools of silver mercury. My eyes are deep and enigmatic, they seduce the goddesses, and strike fear in the gods. They blaze with a fire of passion, and gaze with a striking glare. All look in to my eyes and recoil with emotion, whether be it fear or desire.
You can see every muscle in my body, but I am no Heracles, with rippling arms and legs. My body is smooth and streamline, thin, but not starved. It is powerful and tall. My body is a temple, prone to decay and tear, but is the most beautiful temple, the most beautiful body in the entire world.
My soul is a god, trapped in a body destined to die. I seek myself in the waters of a stream. But the blind prophet foresaw that my beauty will destroy me, but it is more than worth it. I would rather die young and beautiful, than old and decayed.