“I will be arriving in Paris tomorrow evening.
Don’t wash.”
Letter from Napoleon to Josephine
It was pheromone love.
Overwhelming, breathtaking, staggering.
Love at first sight.
He felt the first jolt,
A rise in sexual energy,
Then the second jolt,
His loins in heat.
He wondered if she was feeling it, too.
Wondered if she wanted him
As much as he wanted her.
But nothing was said between them.
And what’s more he couldn’t tell
By looking into her eyes either.
This wasn’t something that happened
To him all the time.
It was out of the ordinary, uncommon, offbeat.
Like an astronomer finding a speck
Of stardust near the edge of our galaxy.
In Between Hangovers 