The alluringest sleep by far is flesh—
Mandrake on an ordinary day.
The women on the street are a walking wish,
And the children come out to play.

The warriors in Homer disdained Paris
Because he liked love a little too much.
Within a tangle of sheets and hair, his
Killer’s skill had lost its touch.

I, a man of a softer, decadent age,
Always had sympathy for Paris’s plight,
Preferring a musky oblivion to rage,
A naked caress to a fight.

—Andrew Frisardi