Lion Head Mesa epithet

sokha wanted to ask nothing. she praised him. ramesses allowed her to shower him with the velvet petals of her words, smiling softly. 
"then we are even. fulfilled." he took another berry and gazed into the gentle insistence of her radiant face. she was resplendent and beautiful, a perfect vessel for the light which shone about them both.
"will you sing for me?" he asked, thinking of how they had first met. his eyes flicked to her mouth and then back to her own, vying, challenging lightly for a word of agreement — or a silken denial.
such was the favourite dance of ramesses.