https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intercrural_sex#/media/File:Hyakinthos.jpg

and what else, dazzlenation?...well, remember the windsors programming themselves in as the 'wind' gods?....in relation to the following link, found upon that nilsen wiki entry....go figure:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dennis_Nilsen

With most victims, Nilsen masturbated as he stood alongside or knelt above the body, and Nilsen confessed to having occasionally engaged in intercrural sex with his victims' bodies, but repeatedly stressed to investigators he had never actually penetrated his victims — explaining that his victims were "too perfect and beautiful for the pathetic ritual of commonplace sex".

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intercrural_sex

 

zephyrus, god of the wind...along with hyacinth...remember that 'Derek jarman' story about how one must never mention the mention of a loved one's name in a bluebell forest, for fear of the wind god becoming jealous and then murdering etc etc...additionally, Sylvia clayton used to identify as a 'hyacinth girl' according to daldry....'the hyacinth girl'...as mentioned in 'the wasteland'...go figure:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vega_program#/media/File:Vega_model_-_Udvar-Hazy_Center.JPG

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vega_program

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47311/the-waste-land

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

                      Frisch weht der Wind
                      Der Heimat zu
                      Mein Irisch Kind,
                      Wo weilest du?

“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
“They called me the hyacinth girl.”
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed’ und leer das Meer.