quiet morning
blue sky
wisps of dreams floating by
the glow and sparkle of sunshine
coating everything like honey
soft tones of a man's voice
drifting through the air
taking the mind to a foreign land
sparkles of ocean waves
caressing the dark rock
like a tumultous lover
dreams of ghosts
of green eyes peeking through black hair
like a tiger in the grass
the ghost of my mary magdalen
the beautiful lover I haven't met
the beautiful lover by the sea...
blue sky
wisps of dreams floating by
the glow and sparkle of sunshine
coating everything like honey
soft tones of a man's voice
drifting through the air
taking the mind to a foreign land
sparkles of ocean waves
caressing the dark rock
like a tumultous lover
dreams of ghosts
of green eyes peeking through black hair
like a tiger in the grass
the ghost of my mary magdalen
the beautiful lover I haven't met
the beautiful lover by the sea...
It reminded me of a sentence from my story:
The world was disappointing him no end. People were as chilly and barren as his post-war German surroundings. He spent his time breezing through museums, all of which he hated, and all of which he regarded as places only creeps congregated to show off how much they knew. But he knew that, in order for him to satisfy his lust, he needed to move. How else was he going to find this woman that he knew so well, but never met? He imagined her face. It was the face of a chameleon, a girl who could change her appearance and blend within any number of surroundings.