O sacred face!
O sacred face worthy of Bacchus or Apollo,which neither man, nor woman can observe with safety!
O fingers which long to stroke –
even those of a young boy or maiden.
So fortunate, the woman who nibbles at your neck;so fortunate, whose lips are bruised by your lips.
Happy the girl who rests her heart on yours
and who would tire her tongue in your tender mouth.
Seneca at his most sentimental - or political?
Birthday Greetings to my divine Marius, from his own true love.