Apr 05, 2005 02:50
BLOOM:
(Forlornly.) I never loved a dear gazelle but it was sure to...
(Gazelles are leaping, feeding, on the mountains. Near are lakes. Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves. Aroma rises, a strong hairgrowth of resin. It burns, the orient, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the bronze flight of eagles. Under it lies the womancity, nude, white, still, cool, in luxury. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.)
i am enjoying this. i would enjoy it much more if i didn't have to speak, articulately and at great length, about this for wednesday's seminar.