I know you, my sweet.
You're a sharp-clawed,
Treacherous little peacock.
But you're food for the gods,
And I'm going to have all of you.
None of me.
Did you think my kiss was a promise
Of what you'll have?
No, my pompous one.
It was to let you know what you will not have.
I could never love you.
Does that matter?
You will be my wife.
You will come to me whenever I call you,
And I will enjoy that very much.
Whether you enjoy it or not is your own affair...
But I think you will.