Where, o’ where, did all of th’ beautiful muses go? Gods, Goddesses, they are all people we know! Poets, Painters, Have ye ne’er Salvation in a lover’s lips? Songs, sculptures; Shrines! Yet thee lack divine worship! Lost, we are lost, that passion should wane after Lust. Truth! Truth I say! Sex is a canvas; an’ we are th’ brush! Paint, But thy paint, It may dry, an’ palettes may stray. Dears, o’ my dears, it’s seldom th’ colors, rather th’ chase. Obsess! Caress! Lick yer’ brush; play with yer’ paint! Romanticize! Fantasize! Hunger th’ Release, for that — we pray!