I cup the chin of this young Macedon;
So smooth and true. A noble figure rich in all-
But his body shall be won!
His flushed lips whisper Plato’s fetid scrawl
As I guide young hands down geometric arcs,
Along precise prisms of perfect pederasty;
On palatial papers we etch our tandem marks
Of genius.
Over the table our eyes meet. His shine
While I am naught but grizzled grey, so soon shall he be mine?
His glow, one blue as summer sky, one dark as agéd night
And he will kneel afore me, though I dwell upon his might.
My hands fly South like Swallows
To open up his robes-
His body is Apollo’s
And I gently hold his globes.
Our bodies cleave like frenzied flesh
Like nothing else on Earth
And when he conquers the Quraysh
He’ll think upon my girth.
His pedicated body, by me it is so young
To me he is a Temple, I explore him with my tongue.
His muscles gently bristle, as again I enter in,
His moans occur so softly, are sticky with my sin.
Of course, if Alexander *had* actually been sodomised by Aristotle, there's no way anyone would have respected him enough in Hellenistic politics for him to become as powerful as he did.
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