(d. ca. 575)
And there lay the lovers, lip-locked,
delirious, infinitely thirsting,
each wanting to go completely inside the other,
each filled to bursting with their love.
Like Achilles lying with Lycomedes,
her tunic pulled above her knees,
they grope and they fondle,
lips devouring lips, twisting like vines.
And he who is mine
trundles off to bed, thrice blessed.
He is mine in secret only—
we burn in separate beds.
§
Come, give me kisses, Rhodope,
and honor Holy Kypris.
But please, keep our love our secret—
the honeys of secret love taste sweetest.
§
Take off your clothes, my love!
Let’s get naked! I want to feel you now.
Even your gauze dressing gown
feels thick as the walls of Babylon.
I want your lovely naked breast
against my naked breast.
Give me your lips.
Let the only veil be silence.
We are one.
Give me your tongue.
§
Even clothed in wrinkles, dear Philinna,
you are more beautiful than the young.
I’d sooner taste the apples
hanging heavy from your boughs
than pinch the firm breasts of girls.
I’ve no taste for the young.
Your autumn outshines a mortal spring,
your winter warmer than a summer sun.
§