I told him I loved him that I worshipped him that with him I was in absolute rapture. It was…Portuguese love a la Teena Marie.
Through the months we made French love and the German love–didn’t hurt, not really. And if I’d been a boy, you could say we made Greek love. But in the end the only kind of love he wanted was English love–you know, Shakespearian.
The kind of love he’d had with her.