Audrey Hepburn. Jodie Foster. Helen Mirren. Catullus and Sappho(?). Lesbia hath a beaming eye. Lesbia bound. Tori Amos. Janet tells me that I am an incurable romantic. She got that right, that's why I wrote this post. I say that it is hard to accept diesel and butch types. I think they happen out of yearning to make political statement. I have no reason to proclaim that I am a lesbian. I walk holding hands with Janet, a la Europeene, and there is no need for a t-shirt statement or a K. D. Lang do.
I read Emily Dickinson and Marylin Hacker. I love holding hands and running them through her hair. I like making gentle, caressing love. Because women nurture and comfort.
I love when we both wear tube dresses and high heels (flashback to Audrey Hepburn). I love peeling off her thigh highs. I love feeling her feminine, tender fingers between my epithelial tissue. I love to feel her perfectly oval, nay, dream-rose petal fingernails fleet along my lips. I love when we wear Kim Novak - Audrey Hepburn makeup. I love going down on Janet because love and care comes back. I swear, this sensuality makes me write Sapphic poetry. Which I will do.
Jodie's sibilants, though, turn me off a wee bit, especially during romantic moments.