O CAELI, our Lesbia, that Lesbia, for whom I grew a love, greater than mine own piddly reserve! She hit the alleyways and now I’m wasted sperm.

58b

NO, not a brassbound warder of the home, nor a winged horse have I, nor swiftness to my boot, nor swiftness to my mind’s chariot, carved with feathered gods of chase, no. I call upon the winds, CAMERI, a lustful stone. Harness all of these, and yet more languorous and fatigued; a greater search for you is a weaker search for me.