Desire

I have no special bet; I give myself to those who offer love. Can it be wrong? Lonely rivers going to the sea give themselves to many brooks in passing. So it is with me; lonely, till someone says the magic word, "Hello."

The face and eyes aren't so important anymore, only the tentative touch in the dark room, followed by the tension, and the loss of tension. Oh, I love lovers, and people in thе market, and those who walk about the park, and girls in rеd and yellow dresses, and women smiling when I pass. And people, just any kind of people

How many times this year have I watched the girl on the opposite roof sunning herself and watching me. And how many times have I seen her in the summer park, or drinking coffee in The Sea Witch, or waiting for someone at Pandora's. Or walking in the street, her breasts peeking out of yellow dresses, her thighs rubbing together as she walks. And how often have I gone looking for her in the late hours at night, only to return home, alone

Desire has no special time. Even now, the wind that ushers in the time of March to hills and households is rattling in the trees outside, leading clouds below a wide, wide moon. And it's very warm

Greet the dark stranger with a smile, he only wants to be with you and maybe spend the night. Are his eyes less bright than those you want in a lover, is his smile less wonderful to know, his touch less timid? Greet the dark stranger and take him home with you, this is love for an evening, important to those alone, necessary to the lonely. And when the morning comes, as you go nakedly from the bed to pull the shade against the morning sunlight, remember, you have been loved for an evening, anyway