The Maiden and the Minotaur took tea;
Bull-Man observed the rules of etiquette:
His shaggy bulk sat next to, clumsily,
Her delicate beauty, blonde and eloquent.
Their discourse ranged from world affairs to health,
From novels to the virtues of hemp clothing,
Tut-tutting inequalities of wealth,
Rehearsing future plans. But Reader, nothing
Could signal to the Maiden what dreams swelled
Inside the rampant brain of My Lord Bull,
Son of a God — what fantasies rebelled!
She could not see his feral mind’s eye roll,
Nor feel his soul’s hot breath. She poured the tea;
Both sipped politely, and turned to poetry.*
* (The Minotaur inside his skull was soon jogging her Crete-wards, under a sharp-horned moon.)