My desire for her wells and wells without release. I am unequipped to sink as deeply into the ocean of her as my heart alone would, if not encased in my clumsy corporal form. I pull her body close to mine, constrict my embrace until she says I must be gentle, but still, she comes not near enough. The water to which my lustful flesh would have my horse heart led is obvious, trite—a played-out platitude. I have drunk myself to drunkenness from that fount. I have splashed like a child in the shallows along the surface and held my breath to swim deep into the depths until my lungs screamed, but I never reached the bottom and always returned gasping for air and exclaiming, “There is no end to this wonder!”