O capture my mind Dark hued one!
Enchant me O evening hued one!

Dusky eyes beckon,
Cloudy hair frames.

Crimson lips curl,
as blue darkens the coy sky.

Wings carry me to that place in the distance; where saffron coloured clouds lie 'neath my feet like silken dreams. Jasmine and cinnamon scents embrace me. There is a golden light to the west...in this flood's midst is a silhouette.

Trees grow tall round me and dark lies the forest beyond. Creepers murmur their silent wishes for union with the stars. Jasmine buds find glorious fulfillment as they bloom purest white. My head is nestled softly as is my languid body on a couch of blue lilies, their nocturnal fragrances lull me to an enchanted sleep.

A golden veil lifts off my rested being and the wine coloured curtains are gently parted by morning winds...through my marble framed window the ocean stretchs a sheet of dark gold with the sky's crowing ornament rising to his unknowable zenith.

I step forth 'pon the cool morning waves. The water hums 'neath my waking feet and I walk across this ocean of the mundane...walk as my white scarf flies off in the winds...flies off with my name to some dark and distant stranger.

Some stranger's face will it cover; someone's being will it fill with my jasmine fragrance. He will come too; come across this golden ocean to the land where I will again be lain...robed in fiery silks.

The evening's wine will be wet upon my lips, wet for his tasting as my eyelids will flutter in the ecstasy of the setting sun. Intoxicating the waves of bliss! Charming his presence...without mercy my gaze as the evening's image I lock 'neath my silken lids.

O capture my heart you of dark hues...
you of golden robes,
you of the flute,
you enchanter of the very night!

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless.

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is.

But neither arrest nor movement.

And do not call it fixity,Where past and future are gathered.

Neither movementfrom nor towards,Neither ascent nor decline.

Except for the point, the still point,There would be no dance,
and there is only the dance.

I can only say, THERE we have been: but I cannot saywhere.

And I cannot say how long, for that is to place it intime.

T.S. Eliot "Burnt Norton"

November Rain

So I've been delinquent in the blog world - my apologies ;)

The past few days have found Montreal veiled in mists and light drizzles. The autumn chills swim in the atmosphere as the rains bring their undeniable charm to the city. I walk down streets lined with bare trees and building taking on such coy shades of grey...I walk beneath a sky so energetic, so full of character and motion as clouds tumble by...

A night was spent in yet another Gay club - this one was more titillating -to say the very least. I was intoxicated beyond reason and moved only by the pulsing rhythms of the so very suggestive music. I was pressed against hard bodies swaying in a union not yet fulfilled...groping.. touching...the sweat, the music, the night...

I don't quite remember how many men I danced with that night. I do remember waking up horridly alone the next morning in my own cozy little apartment on Mariette street... waking up with a Blanchian desire burning furiously within my being.

Nothing lasts forever...not even November rain - isn't there a song that goes something like that?