By Nulo Date: 17 July 1999
And tonight I have plucked you from a tree of love with leaves of gold, from among other women and would place your body, smooth, warm and slightly moving, into a dream of red petals: your hair falling over your shoulders, your round, soft lips inhaling, exhaling rhythmically: a dream of love welling up within a crystalline fountain of passion,deep and pure from your reverie. You lie at my side , twisting my dark curly hair around your slender fingers, brushing your face ever so slightly against my lips, your black Cordoban eyes sparkling with the radiance of liquid gold dancing in undulations fleeing across the surface of a courtyard cistern pool.You hold court before your subjects: a green populace festive with living paint: red snapdragons, yellow daisies, pink fuscias and pale jazmine, whose perfume mixes with the fragrance of new lemon blossoms wafted on a playful breeze whispering little, light nothings; your verdant subjects peek between naughty green fingers at us and explode before you,their princess, with caleidescopic applause, in celebration of our courtship, happily festooning your patio garden with the regal splendor of a needlepoint tapestry which might adorn a king's castle wall. In our hiding place of love you and I embrace, sublimely intertwining our longings in sweet, quiet communion. White doves, like twittering ladies in waiting, moan quietly from unseen perches in the cool shade of arched collonades. Silence answers their cooing with dying echos from under the cool darkness of the covered walkway . You are clothed in soft white linen embroidered with gold thread. A poetess, wise and gracious, sensible and faithful, you awaken to love in communion with your friend. Tickling soft breezes cavort about you moving your hair, cooling your skin raised in goosebumps by the gentle stirrings of your clothing as we each repay the other's court with trust and with love.
But your mystic beauty has been taken away from me. You've fled! You've I'm looking for you to return, my soul bleeding from thorny pain. I refuse comfort, sitting: astonished, bewildered, cold; My arms holding tightly the phantom of bottomless emptiness. In my sinking melancholy night, I hear from behind the courtyard wall an Arabian dirge, a wail in minor key, pleading for a lover to return, beseeching the stony silence of heaven for the mercy of Allah.I see, like an epitaph, inscibed above me in the moonlight, arches ghostly white, swirling in graceful carved arabesques, overlaid upon ethereal geometric patterns,with no beginning or end,verses still beautiful, inscribed in honor of the undying love of the Sultan, as delicate as fine filligree of lace; recorded forever in stone: a Berber song since passed away into forgetfulness, but now heard one time more to lament a love that can be no more. Crystalline dewdrops: you are the tears of the night: weep for me in the muezzlin pallor of ghostly death, a dirge for my phantom Spanish girl,floating in grace over my silent form.