Her dress was made of material that reflected a stronger grace. It flowed
as free and festive, as the spirit from which it was sown. It is alive.I am mesmerized, by its behavior upon the silhouette naked against the sunlight. It teases, then seduces, my common senses. I struggle to hold reason and improbability in the same embrace. Yet, I am witness to this spirit’s gradual transformation. No longer an eternal element, but a sensuous substance. She stands before me, complete. Her beauty is haunting. Thick waves of rich black hair, cascading wildly around her face.
Her lips urged passionate conversation. Our eyes brush lightly into our souls. Out of caution, I did not allow my stare to linger. It would only leave me spellbound to infatuations. I want to know the things, that only she knows. I want to speak to her, but words are wasted at times like this.
So I don’t. I want to touch her, to be sure it is real, but she is confirmed by her aura. So I won’t. I will not challenge the spirit in waiting. Once again, our eyes touch in passing, and I seek to interpret meaning from a simple smile. She is a tranquil mystery. And beyond cordial salutations, everything done from this point on is new. I believe she knows my thoughts.
She feels them, knifing through the mystery and the magic. She positions herself, so that I will see and understand. Hers is a patience of epochs. A gift bestowed by the ancients. She illuminates their cognizance. It is not swayed by lustful ramblings or impassioned solicitations. Therefore, my meager inclinations are dismissed as mediocre, to which she responds accordingly. This spirit has me immured in her spell. As she perhaps, enchanted the traveler, the night he came humbly from the woods, and entered the camp of the gypsies.
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