(no subject)
In summer dreams were sparse. Sparse and fragmentary like a drawing by Rodin.
They had misty outlines, rubbed down by desirous fingers, and vibrant swathes of colour that lured & burned, yet concealed all features. What hid behind that azure veil? I was tormented beyond words. Sometimes slender hands danced over my face and I bit them! A voice like windblown ashes came forth from the gauzy screen and set me screaming.
"Must I be enveloped by the colour of your eyes and yet not see your eyes at all?"