Mon Amour, it has been between us, a play of scimitars, capes and hide-and-seeks. Such choreography would entice new lovers and perhaps, some comely sans pretence … acquaintances.
When you emote, does she know that you never cared … that she is there just like the Everest, to be chastened, mounted, flushed and admired in the moments of folly? But these dainty and treacherous ones are nothing compared to our orbits between Jabal Ar Rahmah, and Annapurna; Vega and Altair; Ganges, Kich and Gujrat.
Words unspoken in the silence ought translate in less opulent sarabands, where pearls, perfumes and laces vellicate an endless arousal that lasts centuries. Do you remember how keen you were as your gestures pleaded in grey … how the stories in your eyes fore-played the fondlings plucked, ripen and tempestuously enraged for none, but the ideal of your heart?
I remembered when our lips rend a feverish storm unleashed causing stars to collide in reverence.
It was our first kiss, between Fire and Water … the first dolour when our hearts fragmentised and our quintessence coalesced in an everlasting love only mortals can dream, and seek a millennium to taste.
The brush of Dawn would arise the vein, evoking a tease and you would often smile. In another lifetime, I remembered your darting gaze, and the plump desire to cup these concealed softness … I remembered how you jealously guarded the expressions, fixing only these sights to and none but yours. How the efforts were made to be prompt, and how the anguish were torn from within when an arcsec or two were rued from not meeting in the Gardens, of Eros.
We must remember our promise to return, to the very last pearl before our Throne, as star crossed id, one bespoken between Heart, and Soul.