The Tragic Courtesan.

She sits in the midst of men. Their eyes devour her body silently. They lay back on lavish cushions and command that there be music and dance. It is their word...here in the world of courtesans it is the order.

The drums begin, slowly, sensuously...the strings join embracing the rythmns. She remains motionless; a sculpted beauty un blinking...her eyes ever fixed 'pon the threshold.

Ahh the curse of the courtesan! Love has crossed her countless times, but she's loved once...with their eyes the caress her body; with her eyes she calls to him. The candles burn, the night slithers by, the crowd grows impatient O moonfaced beauty!

then..."Whose are these steps?
Whose is this sigh?
Whose is this shadow?
O! Of happiness today I am slain!"

An emrald is painted before her. His visage perfect appears...he sits embowered in the filaments of heady incense and he too is lost ... but lost in thoughts of another - one he'll never possess - just hours are his now, hours to spend till eternal sleep tends his wounded heart....

And these hours....spent in the company of the Moonfaced beauty - her longing for him, his longing for another....

Ahh the tragic courtesan who loves rashly; who loves without thinking; who loves unknowing.

I am a tragic Courtesan...I too love rashly. I put myself in the clouds...transient clouds that hold me not. I fall. But the fool in me would yet again seek the clouds!

O that I be turned to stone unfeeling till the time was right!