The Impossible Becomes Immanent

The crimson glow of his lips and the rims of his eyes…
The white effulgence of the gentle smile on his moonlike face…
The golden luster of his stylish clothes and jewelry…

My whole body is soaked in tears,
Flowing from eyes that expect to see these sights
At any moment!

The distant notes of a melodious flute…
The rhythmic chimes of graceful ankle bells…
The sonorous words of a mesmerizing voice beckoning me…

My ears snap to attention at all times,
Yearning to decorate themselves,
With even the faintest hint of even an echo of these sounds.

A dark but brilliant lilly
Mimics, though but dimly,
The graceful, soothing beauty of his hand…

The hair on my skin stands up
As if stretching to be even a few millimeters closer
to the ever-expected touch of that calming hand.

Why do my nostrils flare so wide?
Why do I breath so long and deep?
Like a deer, I search for a trace
of his intoxicating, divine fragrance.

Why do I always lick my lips, absentmindedly?
Barely able to even admit the question stealing my mind:
Will I ever taste, firsthand, the nectar of his lips???

All I can accomplish, however,
Is a long, deep, pitiful sigh…

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