My Own Boy,

         Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days.

Always, with undying love, 
     Yours, Oscar

(An excerpt from the letter Oscar Wilde sent to Lord Alfred Douglas.)

ziam, larry, and niall, always .x