A woman must prefer her liberty over a man. To be happy, she must.
A man to be happy, however, must yearn for his woman more than his liberty.
This is the rightful order.

When a Wanderess has been caged,
or perched with her wings clipped,
She lives like a Stoic,
She lives most heroic,
smiling with ruby, moistened lips
once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.

When no possessions keep us, when no countries contain us, and no time detains us, man becomes a heroic wanderer, and woman, a wanderess.

What is a Wanderess? Bound by no boundaries, contained by no countries, tamed by no time, she is the force of nature’s course.

Ô, the wine of a woman
from heaven is sent,
more perfect than all
that a man can invent.

When she came to my bed and begged me with sighs
not to tempt her towards passion nor actions unwise,
I told her I’d spare her and kissed her closed eyes,
then unbraided her body of its clothing disguise.

While our bodies were nude bathed in candlelight fine
I devoured her mouth, tender lips divine;
and I drank through her thighs her feminine wine.

Ô, the wine of a woman
from heaven is sent,
more perfect than all
that a man can invent.

For thousands of years, the dumb, uncivilized, stone-age society has reduced women to mere prizes to be won, objects to be shown off, and playthings to be abused and toyed with. Now is the time to stop this primitive madness.