April 22, 2011 § 1 Comment
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta; the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
She was Lo, plain Lo in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.
Beautiful hand-illustrated butterflies by legendary author and amateur entomologist Vladimir Nabokov on copies of his masterpiece Lolita. Today would be his birthday. April 22nd.