I offer you my sunset fruit.
Are you the man who will treasure this shining gift. The gift of my decades of joy and sadness, the very real outlook of a weathered, strengthened, round-edged vixen grown mellow.
The possibility of love. What a delicious hope!
And you, the man who loves to love, loves to play, loves to give.
Who can only make love to a woman he loves.
How fresh, how miraculous and wise!
A man who has lived a wide and fulfilling life. A man comfortable with himself, with no more driving ambitions, except one; to have his true partner, the woman he will love for the rest of his days.
Is this not what I have longed for my whole life through?
Soon, we will enter our Golden Years, drenched in mischief, silliness, cooking for each other, dancing to a Latin beat, with an Israeli accent. Hours of touching, fondling, stroking, laughing, dumb-struck!
Could this be the fulfillment of my forever dream?
Come to me, you, son of the enchanted forest, centaur, shooting your arrows straight and true.
My heart is open.
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