In Priapus’s left leathery hand there rests a sharpened fragment of rose quartz. He continues to lumber across the forest floor on three limbs: left foot, right foot, right hand, repeated until he reaches the flowering pink lotus tree.
He still remembers her fleshy sack of bones strewn across the bed of foliage, as if she were offering a carnal feast. With this thought he looks towards the dainty trunk. Raising the stone to her bark, he presses the quartz into the wood. Priapus drags the stone across her bark horizontally, leaving a deep scar.
Priapus laughs, finally claiming his nymph.