The Jewels

Naked was my dark love, and, knowing my heart,

Adorned in but her most sonorous gems,
Their high pomp decked her with the conquering art
Of Moorish slave girls crowned with diadems.

Dancing for me with lively, mocking sound,

This world of stone and metal, brittle and bright,
Fills me with rapture who have always found
Excess of joy where hue and tone unite.

Naked she lay, suffered love pleasurably
To mould her, smiled on my desire as if,
Profound and gentle as the rising sea,
It rode the tide toward its appointed cliff.

A tiger, tamed, her eyes on mine, intent
On lust, she sought all strange ways to please:
Her air, half-candid, half-lascivious, lent
A new charm to her metamorphoses.

In turn, her arms and limbs, her veins, her thighs,

Polished as nard, undulant as a swan,

Passed under my serene clairvoyant eyes

As belly and breasts, grapes of my vine, moved on.

Skilled in more spells than evil angels muster

To break the solace which possessed my heart,

Smashing the crystal rock upon whose luster

My quietude sat on its own, apart,

Her waist, awrithe, her belly enormously

Out-thrust, formed strange designs unknown to us,

As if the haunches of Antiope

Flowed from a body not yet Ephebus.

Slowly the lamplight sank, resigned to die.

Firelight pierced darkness, stud on glowing stud,

Each time it heaved a sharply flaming sigh

It steeped her amber flesh in pools of blood.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szrIVhpe7zQ

I am...a pearl

From the purest white to the darkest shades of blue, I am born anew like a pearl on the seashore. Like a pebble, I am worked on every day, by life, till the time when I become smooth, handy, tamed...

Somewhere in your heart

He felt her like the most intimate fold on his body. Like the realization of what has been conceived, like something that you cannot translate into words. Somewhere under his heart she was lying, like a small miniature of this real one. He remembered her, close, dear, closer than his heart, somewhere on his bones, in the hiding places of knowledge of her, even before they met. Something so simple, clear, without a language, without words, just understandable, with eyesight, with skin, with ears. Being direct, with all her drawbacks, she was closer and dearer than anyone else - some beauty from a cover. Because she had this warmth, this soul,so earthly, and so feminine. Naked essence, taken unawares. Balance loss. Here she is, the real. How it hurts, and how sweet this is. And so, she made it up to him. She made this push on him. She understood what women understand from childbirth - the effort is hers, it’s she who must act.
Only this way, and no other way, a man and a woman meet.

A woman-sensation

A woman-sensation. An expectation of the touch. The mirror with no reflexion. A castle with no ghosts. A genie of a woman. Talking over the relationships - perfumed, ephemeral, unfaithful and occasional. Just the same. A woman on the verge of despair. A woman-memory. A woman-mania. Going back to the resurrection of the old stories. Immunized against the oblivion. In quarrel, a priori. ...with the flow of time. A woman running. Chasing after the running coffee. A woman-professional in catastrophes on the scale of a separate personality. A woman with the efforts of originality, with tortures of routine, with unmanageable tenderness. A hacker-woman who broke through the shell, broke down her fingers. Breaking the access code to your indifferent body, I am dissolved like chalk in milk, like a black kitten, in the dusk... I am melting in the air, like almond smell. A woman - a loop with no insurance. Time heals. Or wounds. Effect of envy because of the dose. 

The border age

30, the border age, the age of border. Life starts at 30. Real life. New perspectives open, both in emotional and external life. Somehow, the deeper I go inside myself, the larger I see around. Psychological issues. Killing inner parasites, vampires, agressors. Meditation. Layers of inner worlds. Imagination. Real landscapes of sorrow and loss, that, chewed upon, wear out their bitter taste and turn into something qualitatively different. Quiet voices inside me. The tighter you close me, the more room I get. Sensitivity. New sources of information. New resources of energy, both inside and outside. 

Immaturity

Too many guys who behave like teenagers. Adult men, of thirty, to forty years old, around me, that behave like teens... What's wrong? Am I attractive for them? Why do I attract them? Why can't they be adult? Is it a period like this? Is there a karma in this? I remember working in a summer camp with 13 - 14 year olds. No difference. The same emotional amplitude. The same uncertainty, carefully hidden under the mask of self-assurance. The same feeling of guilt and the need of dependence on someone wise, grown-up. The same unstable search for marks, evaluations, to be oriented on. How can they be so immature? 

My favorite witch

This is Lara Fabian, a French singer. ...and my favorite witch! When I watched this video for the first time, I got addicted to her voice and the manner of singing. She sings with her heart, and the work she does is that of an actress. Emotions are versatile, deep, sincere. You can read everything on her face. You believe her. You want to hear that voice again and again, so charming, so tender and so violent, so strong and, yet, so fragile.

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