There is but one kiss
The first kiss
Only that one ~ savored more fully
With each returning brush
Of lips intent
On recapturing the moment and pleasure
Of the first
Like the taste of wine remembered
On a lovers tongue ~ the wet warmth of desire
Sensual and yearning…
We clash again and again
Lips hungry,
Hoping to find that moment
Now lost
Wherein we were awakened
By the gift
Of that first kiss...
That I desire you…
That my entire being is impassioned
By the hope of your soft lips
Brushing mine
Should come as no surprise
For I am compelled to reach for you
I am tortured by separation, and
Bound without remedy
To the promise
Of our first and only…
Our last and eternal kiss...
ELAshley
--On St. Valentines Day, 2002
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query one kiss. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query one kiss. Sort by date Show all posts
The Dance
..::In Four Parts::..
Part I
I had come to dance, to feel alive once more
Isn’t that why we all come? To find life again?
To dance and feel the swirl and sway of synchronous movement
The play of emotion written on every face
Love, adoration, even desire glazed in every eye
And the magic of sharing one's soul
That most solitary of creatures, with another butterfly in waiting
A lady or gentleman in wanting
Desiring but to merge with another singular soul
And with the world at play; at dance within this Grandest of Halls
I had come here before, to watch and dream
To study the dancers, their graceful fluidity...
Ah, the dancers...
I sketched and drew each ruffle and bodice, jacket and pleat
My sketches filled pages, and pages filled tomes of line and movement
Imagination consumed me and a fire burned to capture it all
I was driven to know what drew them to this ballet of souls
And it was as though I too were swept away
In the beautiful dance I sought impossibly to capture in static lines
Rigid curves unbending, unchanging, unwilling to fully be the dance
I had tried a hand at dance; once or twice...
My feet seemed not to understand the language
I was clumsy and three footed, or so I deemed, and was
Unlearned and unready for beauty,
And the currents of the Great Dance
My partners were few, saintly with patience
Yet, not unkindly, left one and all
To find grace in the arms of another
Yet I thanked them all for the lessons offered
And I've sat on the edge since...
The edge of dance, the edge of life, and for long years waited
Patient and shy ~ for what I could not say
But I had glorious dreams beneath the dome of the Grand Hall
It was vast, the Great Hall,
The dancers a sea, and I a lighthouse
Casting a light across the undulant deep, wild and flowing
A warning to those who might think to stop…
Dance on, I prayed, beware these shores; hard, merciless, unmoving
Dance as long as Fate allows
For it is assured one day the thread will break, the sword fall
And the dance cut short, as are all things mortal
Oh, short of breadth, Dance on!
So beneath golden Dome, across gleaming marble
The multitude danced,
Cadenced and true to a music that shone about them all
Bathing them in rhythm and sound
They lived my desire
My dreams, my hopes, of beauty and rhythm, light and shadow
In step, in tune, and my arms about a Ladylove...
The music had always sought to sweep me away;
I have ever been powerless in its thrall
When she sang I became Odysseus
Lashed and straining, bound by fear and filled with lust
Wishing only to leap from the mast and plunge to my death
The sketch too inspired me; the motion of the dance
Like the rise and fall of ocean swells, it inspired me
But the music… Ah, the music!
It seemed the binding force that held the dancers to their course
That sparked the magic I felt at watching this magnificent spectacle
And I was surprised to see that none who danced
Seemed to realize the mystery and beauty in which they took part
Is it then difficult to see the dance while in its throes? I wondered
Could it be when one is dancing, the light of its magic cannot be seen?
Are they perhaps blinded by the light in their partner’s eye?
I have seen some beautiful eyes
But none as beautiful as hers…
I remember, as well I should, the enormity of chance;
Chance that I should see her from across the vast hall
Chance that she should even have caught my eye
But Chance and sister Fate seemed ready at last to deal with me
Perhaps taking pity on me, allowing her to see what I could not
Something deep and special within,
Hidden and unbeknownst to even I
Yes, They were kind to me, who
Always on the edge, watching, yet not dancing
Allowed far too much evening to pass…
Perhaps they whispered to her,
Directed her eyes across the Grand Hall and the great sea of movement
How many millions danced that night, and yet her eyes fell on me?
How fortunate that I saw her from across the swirling sea
The Grand Hall hushed, seemed to pull back its voice
And I heard her voice speak across the great distance
“I am Angelina,” I heard her voice,
Sweet as honey. “Please, tell me your name.”
And she moved through the crowd, toward where I stood in wonder
Each step timed to the rhythm of dance,
She was a pebble in the stream
Each couple gliding to a side and sweeping by,
The dance and its harmony preserved
“I am Etienne...” I said with surprise.
I marveled at her radiance,
At the light that shone from her eyes and smile as she drew nearer
“I am Etienne...” I whispered in awe
“Hello, Etienne. Tell me; do you dance or do you simply watch?”
“I would like to dance,” I said, “though I am far from graceful”
“Grace is learned,” she said… “No one here arrived with skill,
Though all were born to dance”
“All? Not I,” I said
And she smiled and spoke… “Yes, Etienne, even you!”
And she laughed
My! How it shone! Silver and true! A ringing to awaken my sleeping heart
Her smile then burned through
Consuming each curtain drawn and shutter locked
‘neath the eaves of my soul
Smoke and ash! and blown away upon sweet winds
Over plains long forgotten
And the light that shone from her impossibly blue eyes
I fought to speak, fearful she would leave; and I stammered…
“I tried once to learn,” I struggled, “and though my teachers were patient all,
I have not achieved such grace as these.”
She swept back her arm in gesture, “These?”
“Yes they are graceful, some more than others; still, you need only a teacher”
“Will you teach me to dance, Angelina?” I whispered, afraid of her answer
My voice wavering and on the verge of tears
For I could not believe how beautiful she was
Oh, How her skin shone! And with a light I could not fathom
And yet she had chosen to notice me
Among the millions who had come to dance
She chose me
Part II
Her dress was a glimmering white, diaphanous layers of silk, satin and taffeta
Milky gold hair fell flaxen and amber honey to soft porcelain skin
And I thought briefly of Olympus, of goddesses both beautiful and self-aware
Yet unaware of their effect
~Of her effect
On my senses
She was ambrosia to me, a heady wine of bliss
Her eyes the color of a soft summer sky, shining wetly
Seeing all that I was at a glance
And I could not hide
It was as though I fell
Forever tumbling and ever in awe of her
Yet I found I could not gaze forever into their liquid depths
For I was drawn to her lips, how they danced themselves, moist and inviting
Shaped and contouring 'bout the sound of my name
“Teach me to dance,” I asked again
“Teach me to move and spin and step and live
For I find that I would take you in my arms and never let go
I would die in your arms, and in your eyes…”
“I will teach you,” she said at last, after long perilous moments
A smile on perfect lips...
“Will you do as I say, step where I say, move where I say?
Then take me in your arms, gently as a lover
For is that not what all dancers are?
Lovers, moving with each other, through the press of skin on skin
Drinking in each others eyes, sensing in each, desire in the subtlest of turns
Each eager to please the other?
And yet it is not making love, not the union of flesh and passion
Think of me nonetheless as your lover, think of our souls
Binding themselves one to another”
I could not believe I was to hold her
To feel her warmth, to be guided by her, this loveliest of dancers
“Come now and take me, into your arms and make love to me
Turn me about, and let's move with the tide and currents of the dance”
And she placed a hand in mine, her palm to mine, fingers gently grasping
Fine boned and soft, nails lacquered and gleaming. Perfect
I stepped closer placing a hand to the small of her back
And drew her close
Her scent enveloped me; cradling my senses
It was the scent of angels, pure and beguiling
And as I breathed deep
The warmth of her skin encompassed me, and I sensed
The lines of her form like the lines of my earth
Rich and yielding, fertile and young, and ripe with potential
“Tell me your thoughts, Etienne,” I remember her saying
“For you are surely not here
With me”
“Oh, but I am,” I smiled
“Tell me everything; remembering your promise to do all I say”
“I have been taking pictures, Angelina
Sculpting this moment in the clays of my memory
Drinking in every sensation
The feel of your hand in mine
The warmth of your body through silk, satin and taffeta
Every glint of pearl, every aquamarine and tanzanite sewn
The scent of your perfume, your hair of honey
And the unnatural beauty of your eyes
The very way your skin gleams and shines
Your smile, the soft sound of your breathing
And your lips…”
“My lips?” She asked
“Do they make you weak?”
I thought for the briefest of moments she mocked me
But her eyes glinting and lips shining
Pulled into a smile and assured me she understood
And I believe I loved her at that very moment
The moment she showed she understood my heart
“You should take care,” I said, “for I could well fall in love with you
Though I sense I already have”
“And would that be so terrible?” She smiled, and leaning to my ear whispered
“Did not I choose you?”
And I felt my heart swell and my soul surge with new life
My spirit enlarged and engorged with a new sense of purpose
To love her and her alone
~Et nunc, et semper
For now and forever
From that day forward
Confidence grew in my hands
Her hand in mine seemed new and my hand at the small of her back, at home
I thought of the Gardens of Loveplay
How I longed to walk their paths with her
And yet I felt as though we were already there
The music had crept back, little by little
The dancing continued yet we had not danced a step
Only stood together, poised in preparation like horses at the gate
And in that moment I realized
It was I who was horse, straining at the bridle, champing the bit, eager to run
And she the rider, skilled and at ease
Gently stroking and controlling my impatience to burst forward with a rush
Calming, relaxing me, yet promising me the heat and sweat of the race
She has always shown more control than I
For I have ever been weak in my excitement of her
And for her
“Relax,” she said, “there is time a'plenty for to run
First let us learn to walk with one another
Let us enjoy this first moment of bliss
And remember always the feel of our proximity, our touch
Handsome and magnificent”
“Where should we begin,” I asked
“Begin? Are we not wrapped in a lovers embrace?
And your arm about my waist
My hand in yours?
My dear Etienne, we have already begun…”
“Can you feel the music?
Can you sense its desire, its only desire, to see us wed in motion?
And moving across the planes of the earth
Clicking sparks with our heels, and drawing fire from the heavens?
There is no stopping now, Etienne
Feel its rhythm; let it speak to your soul!
Let it move you to move me
And touch my heart
Never taking your gaze from my eyes ~ or lips
Nor your hand from mine ~
Remember your promise!
Write to me with every movement
With every step and whirl write me poems”
“Angelina,” I softly cried
“Forgive me, but I am fallen for you
You speak to my soul and I… We have yet to even dance!”
“Shhhh, my, Etienne,” her lips brushing mine in a kiss brief and eternal
“Make love to me,” she whispered upon my lips, her eyes deep in mine
“Come, and dance with me”
Part III
“What you must understand, Etienne
Is that life, like the Dance has a rhythm
Our hearts beat, our every breath a cadence
The words our tongues and lips shape
All is rhythm
And still they are imperfect. We are imperfect
Life and the Dance as well
Everything imperfect.”
“But their grace…” I said, and at that moment I was struck
We were not dancing
Yet she allowed me to hold her
Our hands still poised
Our arms still about each other
And her breath on my face
“But their grace,” I said again
“They could not be more perfect!”
Then she smiled and drew me closer
Laying her cheek to mine
And together we watched as the Dance swept ever by
“Look, Etienne. Watch their feet!”
I watched and heard the sound of their shuffle
Felt its rhythm, and I shuddered
I felt her smile against my cheek
But she did not pull away
And I then saw…
As one foot slipped, its leg stiffened ~
Balance was restored, and the pair flowed on
“Did you see it?” she asked, “did you see his misstep?
How he caught it and moved on?
She did not even notice! Her eyes were only on his!”
She pulled away ~ My cheek warm with the memory of her
And she favored me with another smile ~ Gleaming, shining true
A radiant sun in a perfect sky
Perfect, I thought. She is perfect…
“No, Etienne, I am not
But it is sweet of you to think so. Thank you”
And she suddenly laughed for the expression I wore
“Your eyes, it was they who spoke to me…
~ And your soul"
“How is it you understand the language of my soul, Angelina?”
“One need only look, dear Etienne…
To read one must open his eyes, focus on the page
Wrestle meaning from each word; its order and relation to the others that
Follow, or come before
There is rhythm even here
And now,” she said, “to the Dance”
“Our hands and their placement
And the pressures we employ
Speak to our partner; this too is language, and the beginning of love
For the languages of Dance and Love are sisters
Or brothers, if you like
Twinned and born of the same mother ~
A Greater Love known only to gods
Who have no name utterable by mortal lips.
She simply is
And Dance and Love are but shadows of her Grace and Perfection
~ True grace, true perfection
And we as mortals need learn this language
It is our souls purpose
And though we as mere mortals cannot attain this perfection
Its pursuit is not without merit”
“I feel like a child,” my eyes bright as a whisper
“Do not,” she said
“For whatever reason, the fates have chosen me to teach you the Dance
And I would not do you disservice
I must confess, Etienne, I have never heard a man’s soul
Speak so clearly. I am intrigued”
She tilted her head and her smile broadened
“Shall I teach you this language I spoke of?”
“I am yours to command,” I said
“Do not tease me,” she replied. Her smile flickering as it were a candle’s flame
Then returned, forgiving me my indiscretion
“Very well,” she said
“Your hands speak to me, to the small of my back…
I hear that you support me
That you will protect me; you tell me I am safe in your arms
My hand set upon your shoulder
Speaks to you of my acceptance
Of you, and of our journey together, however brief
Or enduring
“My other
Clasped softly in yours
Tells you my acceptance does not come without price
You must be gentle, and above all, respectful
“The way you hold my hand tells me of your reverence for my honor
It speaks of devotion
And acceptance of your responsibility
Not only to me
But to your own honor as well
How you hold me tells the world you a gentleman
And cognizant of your duty to me
As I have given myself over
To be led by you
But never dominated
To be cherished
But never captive; I am free to leave if I choose
“How I allow myself to be held can tell the world many things
If I am rigid and grip too tightly your hand
The world will see I do not trust you
For I have not given myself over to you
And that our dance will be brief
If I am a feather
The world will see I am not content to be led, rather
Intent on requiring you follow me
It says, I do not believe you can lead me
And the world will see you as weak
Again, the dance will be brief
But if I seem to move with you
Our movements harmonious, our steps in tune
Our bodies flowing one to the other, so much so
The world cannot tell where I begin and you end…
Well…
Such a man is to be admired
To so gain a woman’s acceptance; her trust
The world will applaud your grace and skill
The Dance may still be brief
But most often it is not
For when a man and woman dance so
It speaks of their abiding commitment; each to the other
It is rare that a woman should find such a man
Skilled in the art of Dance
His bearing graceful
Most women must hope they can find a man they deem trainable
Like clay upon a potters wheel
A man they can shape to their desire”
I listened, rapt with wonder
And I prayed to be taken into her supple hands
To be molded and shaped to her desire
Her words so touched me; my heart, imbued that moment with hope
I knew I loved her and I hoped…
But I was not worthy of such as her
And though I could not hide my pleasure
I secretly crafted new dreams in the depths of my soul
Fearing and hoping both that she might hear and tell me she approved
That the dreams I forged too had merit…
Ah, she was so lovely…
“Shall we begin?” I heard her say
Her voice drawing me back from my dreams
“Yes” I said
“First, Etienne, Dance is founded on but two primary rhythms
Unlike the spectrum of light
For in dance there are but two; a cycle of two and a cycle of three
Though music follows several other such cycles
Dance has but two”
“How is that possible,” I asked, “if music has many and dance but two?”
“Ah, but Etienne, it is merely a matter of slowing or quickening the pace
To fill the space between beats
If a dance boasts a rhythm of but three or four, each step is equal
Yet there are Cycles that require more than its measure
If there are but three in a cycle of four
You must lengthen one to fill the four
But if there are four to fill the three
Then you must shorten two to fill the three
There exist, of course, variations
But all are easily learned with time
Now let us begin simply, allow me to lead
And she danced me upon the shore
Beyond the crash of thunder and music
And the shimmering sea of dancers
“Pretend your feet are tied to mine, having no choice but to follow
Where once my feet were, yours must now be…”
And I followed her, and loved her for the confidence she showed me
Never taking her eyes from mine
Sighing not once in frustration
Never stiffening beneath my hands
She spun me and moved me and carried me about the Grand Hall
Yet always on the shore
And there were some who laughed
But her eyes never left mine
Her smile never dimmed
And my love for her,
Filling all the dark places of my lonely heart
Now ached to hear her lovely voice
Speaking to my soul
Calling me friend
And saying, I love you…
Part IV
We danced for what seemed ages
Our eyes held fast and
Unwilling this spell be broken,
She was exquisite to my eyes
A priceless jewel
In a sea of mediocrity
~As though the Dance could ever be so!
And lost in her eyes, I do not recall when we left the shore
And moved upon the sea; dancing the current
Now part of the great migration that ringed the fountain
That circled life
Nor can I say when she ceased to lead and I follow
When she
Letting herself be led, told the world how she believed in me
How she trusted my hand at the small of her back
And my love for her grew
I scarcely knew where she left off and I began,
As she said we should be
And passion stirred within my breast
A desire to make love to her with every step and sway
Make poetry of her name, for love’s sake.
To see pleasure written in her eyes
And smile, I was willing in that moment to die a thousand deaths
On foreign fields; a warrior-poet, my bone the quill
My blood, the ink ~ spilled on the whim of a muse...
Such was the love that filled my heart
And fills it to this day
“I am thirsty Etienne, though I am not sure
Whether I thirst for drink, or do I crave something else?
You perhaps?”
“Do not tease me,” I said, the spell suddenly broken
A gulf beginning to deepen between us
Yet she drew me back, putting her arm in mine and pulling me close
“We shall see,” she said with a smile
“Let us go to the fountain and drink and...
It is true, I am parched for both love and drink”
“I cannot move as you did through this sweeping dance,” I said
“I have not your grace. Not yet”
“Etienne, don’t be silly
It was not I who moved through the dance
It was the dance that moved past me. About and around
The current does not divert the island
Nor is stone pushed aside by the stream
It is the water that flows
Not island or stone
Let them be what they are…
And let yourself be what you were meant to be; my companion”
“Why is it at the center? Why a fountain in the midst of the dance?”
As we moved toward the center, the dance streaming past,
A river of swirls and eddies running before and behind
Never a touch or glance toward us, yet stirring the air
She laced her fingers with mine, and spoke to me
“Life is at the center of the dance,” she said
“To drink is to live ~ and the dead do not drink;
Life is at the center of all things, Etienne”
“Is that what I was? Dead?”
And then she spoke the word I had not before heard
Nor since forgotten…
“Not yet, my love”
“My love,” I repeated, “…my love”
“Yes, you are my love, Etienne”
In the midst of the dance
Somewhere between life and death;
The fountain and the shore
We stopped; the world swept by, the ocean rushed past, the dance moved ever on
And her arms swept over my shoulders drawing me close
Her smile for the briefest of eternities filled my sight
Before her lips swept me away in a dance of their own
We were the island she spoke of
The stone that parted waters, and for as long as our kiss held
As long as the taste of her lips, the scent of her hair
Filled my senses, I forgot about death
Forgot about life
Forgot about everything but the brush of soft lips
The dance of tongues, and our eyes
Open and drinking
Watching and swimming in each other’s depths
“I knew I loved you the moment your eyes touched mine
Though I was afraid to tell you, fearing you might return to the sea
And the dance, yet you stayed”
“Where would I have gone, Etienne? Where between heaven and hell
Between life and death, where would I go?” you asked
“I watched you for the longest while
Watched how you desired the dance, how you longed to dance
I watched your hands, watched as you sketched
And I wondered how you viewed the dance, how you drew our lines
How you, on the edge of death, viewed life
And I saw in your eye a wistful dream that awoke in me
A desire I thought long dead…
I did not know if I could love you
But I had to know
And now I do, and I find I am still thirsty, Etienne
For life… with you”
“But you know nothing of me, Angelina,” I cautioned
“Don’t I?” you replied
“Have you not danced me magnificently?
What more need I learn? I have read the lines of your earth*
Saw what manner of grain grows there. So come,
Let us go to the fountain and seal our love, and drink of life”
I took your hand in mine…
It was my first act of confidence, inspired by a desire to live
Born of a desire to belong at your side, in your arms, and in your heart
And I led you in a dance that brought us nearer each turn to the waters of life
To the consummation of love, of devotion ~ a cool and heady drink ~
Awaiting us there at the very heart of life
And on we danced, moving like stars about the galactic core
Merging at last, emerging from the stream to the bright wet shores of life
The great fountain rose before us like a mighty ziggurat, gleaming like pearl
And ringed about by Orsel maids, pitchers tipped and brimming
From which wine fell like rain, filling our glasses
Ambrosial mists covered our skin
And together we shone glistening wet and
Bright like the sun
And we raised our glasses to toast the fates
That joined our threads and wove the pattern
Of years to come, and our lives
Within both weft and warp
“To Angelina,” I smiled, falling deep into your eyes,
“To my dearest friend and most cherished lover,
I vow to love you,
To the last breath I breathe, and beyond
For I was destined to love you,
Born to be your lover,
To dance with no other but you…”
“And to you, My Etienne
I will be your harbor, safe and warm
When storms threaten, and oceans build
I too will love you to my dying breath, ever mindful of your heart
I will love you and no one else
To the end of my days, but again, there is a price:
You must always remember that how you dance me
Tells the world how you love me
And you must love me such that
The world would be envious
Wanting what I have, but never can or will…
To my Etienne, to our love,
And the envy of a world!”
We drank from our glasses then drank from each others lips
In a kiss that, to this day has never left me
~ And it was a rich wine indeed, thick like honey upon our lips ~
Above all else, you inspire in me a desire to be one with the dance
To be one with you, in all things
And so I have sought daily to never lose the feel of that
One beautiful kiss, sweet ambrosia misting our faces
Our lips heavy with wine, and our senses drunk
With love and wanting…
And to live each day remembering my promise
To make an entire world envious
There are many things I sought to find at the dance, And you, my most secret of dreams,
But what I found far surpassed any hope or dream. Like my sketches
~ Poor imitations of life
And with your gift of awakening I was made to recall a verse of song…
“Gold and diamonds cast their spell It’s not for me I know it well
The riches that I seek are waiting on the other side
There’s more than I can measure
In the treasures of the love that I can find…” **
And what had I hoped to find? I had come to dance never expecting to dance…
And finding a dance, changed my life forever, to the reshaping of my soul
The deconstruction of a name I walked within
The resurrection of a name in the throes of a dance
And the resonance of a name
Spun from dreams and cast like nets
From your own perfect lips
To the capture of my very heart and soul
My fair Angelina
--ELAshley
010302.115718.6
Many Revisions
Culminating in this
Final Revision:
102107.125628.6
041610.113811.1
_______________
* "The lines of my earth, so brittle, unfertile, and ready to die.
I need a drink, but the well has run dry." --Sixpence None the Richer
** "The Wall" --Kansas
Part I
I had come to dance, to feel alive once more
Isn’t that why we all come? To find life again?
To dance and feel the swirl and sway of synchronous movement
The play of emotion written on every face
Love, adoration, even desire glazed in every eye
And the magic of sharing one's soul
That most solitary of creatures, with another butterfly in waiting
A lady or gentleman in wanting
Desiring but to merge with another singular soul
And with the world at play; at dance within this Grandest of Halls
I had come here before, to watch and dream
To study the dancers, their graceful fluidity...
Ah, the dancers...
I sketched and drew each ruffle and bodice, jacket and pleat
My sketches filled pages, and pages filled tomes of line and movement
Imagination consumed me and a fire burned to capture it all
I was driven to know what drew them to this ballet of souls
And it was as though I too were swept away
In the beautiful dance I sought impossibly to capture in static lines
Rigid curves unbending, unchanging, unwilling to fully be the dance
I had tried a hand at dance; once or twice...
My feet seemed not to understand the language
I was clumsy and three footed, or so I deemed, and was
Unlearned and unready for beauty,
And the currents of the Great Dance
My partners were few, saintly with patience
Yet, not unkindly, left one and all
To find grace in the arms of another
Yet I thanked them all for the lessons offered
And I've sat on the edge since...
The edge of dance, the edge of life, and for long years waited
Patient and shy ~ for what I could not say
But I had glorious dreams beneath the dome of the Grand Hall
It was vast, the Great Hall,
The dancers a sea, and I a lighthouse
Casting a light across the undulant deep, wild and flowing
A warning to those who might think to stop…
Dance on, I prayed, beware these shores; hard, merciless, unmoving
Dance as long as Fate allows
For it is assured one day the thread will break, the sword fall
And the dance cut short, as are all things mortal
Oh, short of breadth, Dance on!
So beneath golden Dome, across gleaming marble
The multitude danced,
Cadenced and true to a music that shone about them all
Bathing them in rhythm and sound
They lived my desire
My dreams, my hopes, of beauty and rhythm, light and shadow
In step, in tune, and my arms about a Ladylove...
The music had always sought to sweep me away;
I have ever been powerless in its thrall
When she sang I became Odysseus
Lashed and straining, bound by fear and filled with lust
Wishing only to leap from the mast and plunge to my death
The sketch too inspired me; the motion of the dance
Like the rise and fall of ocean swells, it inspired me
But the music… Ah, the music!
It seemed the binding force that held the dancers to their course
That sparked the magic I felt at watching this magnificent spectacle
And I was surprised to see that none who danced
Seemed to realize the mystery and beauty in which they took part
Is it then difficult to see the dance while in its throes? I wondered
Could it be when one is dancing, the light of its magic cannot be seen?
Are they perhaps blinded by the light in their partner’s eye?
I have seen some beautiful eyes
But none as beautiful as hers…
I remember, as well I should, the enormity of chance;
Chance that I should see her from across the vast hall
Chance that she should even have caught my eye
But Chance and sister Fate seemed ready at last to deal with me
Perhaps taking pity on me, allowing her to see what I could not
Something deep and special within,
Hidden and unbeknownst to even I
Yes, They were kind to me, who
Always on the edge, watching, yet not dancing
Allowed far too much evening to pass…
Perhaps they whispered to her,
Directed her eyes across the Grand Hall and the great sea of movement
How many millions danced that night, and yet her eyes fell on me?
How fortunate that I saw her from across the swirling sea
The Grand Hall hushed, seemed to pull back its voice
And I heard her voice speak across the great distance
“I am Angelina,” I heard her voice,
Sweet as honey. “Please, tell me your name.”
And she moved through the crowd, toward where I stood in wonder
Each step timed to the rhythm of dance,
She was a pebble in the stream
Each couple gliding to a side and sweeping by,
The dance and its harmony preserved
“I am Etienne...” I said with surprise.
I marveled at her radiance,
At the light that shone from her eyes and smile as she drew nearer
“I am Etienne...” I whispered in awe
“Hello, Etienne. Tell me; do you dance or do you simply watch?”
“I would like to dance,” I said, “though I am far from graceful”
“Grace is learned,” she said… “No one here arrived with skill,
Though all were born to dance”
“All? Not I,” I said
And she smiled and spoke… “Yes, Etienne, even you!”
And she laughed
My! How it shone! Silver and true! A ringing to awaken my sleeping heart
Her smile then burned through
Consuming each curtain drawn and shutter locked
‘neath the eaves of my soul
Smoke and ash! and blown away upon sweet winds
Over plains long forgotten
And the light that shone from her impossibly blue eyes
I fought to speak, fearful she would leave; and I stammered…
“I tried once to learn,” I struggled, “and though my teachers were patient all,
I have not achieved such grace as these.”
She swept back her arm in gesture, “These?”
“Yes they are graceful, some more than others; still, you need only a teacher”
“Will you teach me to dance, Angelina?” I whispered, afraid of her answer
My voice wavering and on the verge of tears
For I could not believe how beautiful she was
Oh, How her skin shone! And with a light I could not fathom
And yet she had chosen to notice me
Among the millions who had come to dance
She chose me
Part II
Her dress was a glimmering white, diaphanous layers of silk, satin and taffeta
Milky gold hair fell flaxen and amber honey to soft porcelain skin
And I thought briefly of Olympus, of goddesses both beautiful and self-aware
Yet unaware of their effect
~Of her effect
On my senses
She was ambrosia to me, a heady wine of bliss
Her eyes the color of a soft summer sky, shining wetly
Seeing all that I was at a glance
And I could not hide
It was as though I fell
Forever tumbling and ever in awe of her
Yet I found I could not gaze forever into their liquid depths
For I was drawn to her lips, how they danced themselves, moist and inviting
Shaped and contouring 'bout the sound of my name
“Teach me to dance,” I asked again
“Teach me to move and spin and step and live
For I find that I would take you in my arms and never let go
I would die in your arms, and in your eyes…”
“I will teach you,” she said at last, after long perilous moments
A smile on perfect lips...
“Will you do as I say, step where I say, move where I say?
Then take me in your arms, gently as a lover
For is that not what all dancers are?
Lovers, moving with each other, through the press of skin on skin
Drinking in each others eyes, sensing in each, desire in the subtlest of turns
Each eager to please the other?
And yet it is not making love, not the union of flesh and passion
Think of me nonetheless as your lover, think of our souls
Binding themselves one to another”
I could not believe I was to hold her
To feel her warmth, to be guided by her, this loveliest of dancers
“Come now and take me, into your arms and make love to me
Turn me about, and let's move with the tide and currents of the dance”
And she placed a hand in mine, her palm to mine, fingers gently grasping
Fine boned and soft, nails lacquered and gleaming. Perfect
I stepped closer placing a hand to the small of her back
And drew her close
Her scent enveloped me; cradling my senses
It was the scent of angels, pure and beguiling
And as I breathed deep
The warmth of her skin encompassed me, and I sensed
The lines of her form like the lines of my earth
Rich and yielding, fertile and young, and ripe with potential
“Tell me your thoughts, Etienne,” I remember her saying
“For you are surely not here
With me”
“Oh, but I am,” I smiled
“Tell me everything; remembering your promise to do all I say”
“I have been taking pictures, Angelina
Sculpting this moment in the clays of my memory
Drinking in every sensation
The feel of your hand in mine
The warmth of your body through silk, satin and taffeta
Every glint of pearl, every aquamarine and tanzanite sewn
The scent of your perfume, your hair of honey
And the unnatural beauty of your eyes
The very way your skin gleams and shines
Your smile, the soft sound of your breathing
And your lips…”
“My lips?” She asked
“Do they make you weak?”
I thought for the briefest of moments she mocked me
But her eyes glinting and lips shining
Pulled into a smile and assured me she understood
And I believe I loved her at that very moment
The moment she showed she understood my heart
“You should take care,” I said, “for I could well fall in love with you
Though I sense I already have”
“And would that be so terrible?” She smiled, and leaning to my ear whispered
“Did not I choose you?”
And I felt my heart swell and my soul surge with new life
My spirit enlarged and engorged with a new sense of purpose
To love her and her alone
~Et nunc, et semper
For now and forever
From that day forward
Confidence grew in my hands
Her hand in mine seemed new and my hand at the small of her back, at home
I thought of the Gardens of Loveplay
How I longed to walk their paths with her
And yet I felt as though we were already there
The music had crept back, little by little
The dancing continued yet we had not danced a step
Only stood together, poised in preparation like horses at the gate
And in that moment I realized
It was I who was horse, straining at the bridle, champing the bit, eager to run
And she the rider, skilled and at ease
Gently stroking and controlling my impatience to burst forward with a rush
Calming, relaxing me, yet promising me the heat and sweat of the race
She has always shown more control than I
For I have ever been weak in my excitement of her
And for her
“Relax,” she said, “there is time a'plenty for to run
First let us learn to walk with one another
Let us enjoy this first moment of bliss
And remember always the feel of our proximity, our touch
Handsome and magnificent”
“Where should we begin,” I asked
“Begin? Are we not wrapped in a lovers embrace?
And your arm about my waist
My hand in yours?
My dear Etienne, we have already begun…”
“Can you feel the music?
Can you sense its desire, its only desire, to see us wed in motion?
And moving across the planes of the earth
Clicking sparks with our heels, and drawing fire from the heavens?
There is no stopping now, Etienne
Feel its rhythm; let it speak to your soul!
Let it move you to move me
And touch my heart
Never taking your gaze from my eyes ~ or lips
Nor your hand from mine ~
Remember your promise!
Write to me with every movement
With every step and whirl write me poems”
“Angelina,” I softly cried
“Forgive me, but I am fallen for you
You speak to my soul and I… We have yet to even dance!”
“Shhhh, my, Etienne,” her lips brushing mine in a kiss brief and eternal
“Make love to me,” she whispered upon my lips, her eyes deep in mine
“Come, and dance with me”
Part III
“What you must understand, Etienne
Is that life, like the Dance has a rhythm
Our hearts beat, our every breath a cadence
The words our tongues and lips shape
All is rhythm
And still they are imperfect. We are imperfect
Life and the Dance as well
Everything imperfect.”
“But their grace…” I said, and at that moment I was struck
We were not dancing
Yet she allowed me to hold her
Our hands still poised
Our arms still about each other
And her breath on my face
“But their grace,” I said again
“They could not be more perfect!”
Then she smiled and drew me closer
Laying her cheek to mine
And together we watched as the Dance swept ever by
“Look, Etienne. Watch their feet!”
I watched and heard the sound of their shuffle
Felt its rhythm, and I shuddered
I felt her smile against my cheek
But she did not pull away
And I then saw…
As one foot slipped, its leg stiffened ~
Balance was restored, and the pair flowed on
“Did you see it?” she asked, “did you see his misstep?
How he caught it and moved on?
She did not even notice! Her eyes were only on his!”
She pulled away ~ My cheek warm with the memory of her
And she favored me with another smile ~ Gleaming, shining true
A radiant sun in a perfect sky
Perfect, I thought. She is perfect…
“No, Etienne, I am not
But it is sweet of you to think so. Thank you”
And she suddenly laughed for the expression I wore
“Your eyes, it was they who spoke to me…
~ And your soul"
“How is it you understand the language of my soul, Angelina?”
“One need only look, dear Etienne…
To read one must open his eyes, focus on the page
Wrestle meaning from each word; its order and relation to the others that
Follow, or come before
There is rhythm even here
And now,” she said, “to the Dance”
“Our hands and their placement
And the pressures we employ
Speak to our partner; this too is language, and the beginning of love
For the languages of Dance and Love are sisters
Or brothers, if you like
Twinned and born of the same mother ~
A Greater Love known only to gods
Who have no name utterable by mortal lips.
She simply is
And Dance and Love are but shadows of her Grace and Perfection
~ True grace, true perfection
And we as mortals need learn this language
It is our souls purpose
And though we as mere mortals cannot attain this perfection
Its pursuit is not without merit”
“I feel like a child,” my eyes bright as a whisper
“Do not,” she said
“For whatever reason, the fates have chosen me to teach you the Dance
And I would not do you disservice
I must confess, Etienne, I have never heard a man’s soul
Speak so clearly. I am intrigued”
She tilted her head and her smile broadened
“Shall I teach you this language I spoke of?”
“I am yours to command,” I said
“Do not tease me,” she replied. Her smile flickering as it were a candle’s flame
Then returned, forgiving me my indiscretion
“Very well,” she said
“Your hands speak to me, to the small of my back…
I hear that you support me
That you will protect me; you tell me I am safe in your arms
My hand set upon your shoulder
Speaks to you of my acceptance
Of you, and of our journey together, however brief
Or enduring
“My other
Clasped softly in yours
Tells you my acceptance does not come without price
You must be gentle, and above all, respectful
“The way you hold my hand tells me of your reverence for my honor
It speaks of devotion
And acceptance of your responsibility
Not only to me
But to your own honor as well
How you hold me tells the world you a gentleman
And cognizant of your duty to me
As I have given myself over
To be led by you
But never dominated
To be cherished
But never captive; I am free to leave if I choose
“How I allow myself to be held can tell the world many things
If I am rigid and grip too tightly your hand
The world will see I do not trust you
For I have not given myself over to you
And that our dance will be brief
If I am a feather
The world will see I am not content to be led, rather
Intent on requiring you follow me
It says, I do not believe you can lead me
And the world will see you as weak
Again, the dance will be brief
But if I seem to move with you
Our movements harmonious, our steps in tune
Our bodies flowing one to the other, so much so
The world cannot tell where I begin and you end…
Well…
Such a man is to be admired
To so gain a woman’s acceptance; her trust
The world will applaud your grace and skill
The Dance may still be brief
But most often it is not
For when a man and woman dance so
It speaks of their abiding commitment; each to the other
It is rare that a woman should find such a man
Skilled in the art of Dance
His bearing graceful
Most women must hope they can find a man they deem trainable
Like clay upon a potters wheel
A man they can shape to their desire”
I listened, rapt with wonder
And I prayed to be taken into her supple hands
To be molded and shaped to her desire
Her words so touched me; my heart, imbued that moment with hope
I knew I loved her and I hoped…
But I was not worthy of such as her
And though I could not hide my pleasure
I secretly crafted new dreams in the depths of my soul
Fearing and hoping both that she might hear and tell me she approved
That the dreams I forged too had merit…
Ah, she was so lovely…
“Shall we begin?” I heard her say
Her voice drawing me back from my dreams
“Yes” I said
“First, Etienne, Dance is founded on but two primary rhythms
Unlike the spectrum of light
For in dance there are but two; a cycle of two and a cycle of three
Though music follows several other such cycles
Dance has but two”
“How is that possible,” I asked, “if music has many and dance but two?”
“Ah, but Etienne, it is merely a matter of slowing or quickening the pace
To fill the space between beats
If a dance boasts a rhythm of but three or four, each step is equal
Yet there are Cycles that require more than its measure
If there are but three in a cycle of four
You must lengthen one to fill the four
But if there are four to fill the three
Then you must shorten two to fill the three
There exist, of course, variations
But all are easily learned with time
Now let us begin simply, allow me to lead
And she danced me upon the shore
Beyond the crash of thunder and music
And the shimmering sea of dancers
“Pretend your feet are tied to mine, having no choice but to follow
Where once my feet were, yours must now be…”
And I followed her, and loved her for the confidence she showed me
Never taking her eyes from mine
Sighing not once in frustration
Never stiffening beneath my hands
She spun me and moved me and carried me about the Grand Hall
Yet always on the shore
And there were some who laughed
But her eyes never left mine
Her smile never dimmed
And my love for her,
Filling all the dark places of my lonely heart
Now ached to hear her lovely voice
Speaking to my soul
Calling me friend
And saying, I love you…
Part IV
We danced for what seemed ages
Our eyes held fast and
Unwilling this spell be broken,
She was exquisite to my eyes
A priceless jewel
In a sea of mediocrity
~As though the Dance could ever be so!
And lost in her eyes, I do not recall when we left the shore
And moved upon the sea; dancing the current
Now part of the great migration that ringed the fountain
That circled life
Nor can I say when she ceased to lead and I follow
When she
Letting herself be led, told the world how she believed in me
How she trusted my hand at the small of her back
And my love for her grew
I scarcely knew where she left off and I began,
As she said we should be
And passion stirred within my breast
A desire to make love to her with every step and sway
Make poetry of her name, for love’s sake.
To see pleasure written in her eyes
And smile, I was willing in that moment to die a thousand deaths
On foreign fields; a warrior-poet, my bone the quill
My blood, the ink ~ spilled on the whim of a muse...
Such was the love that filled my heart
And fills it to this day
“I am thirsty Etienne, though I am not sure
Whether I thirst for drink, or do I crave something else?
You perhaps?”
“Do not tease me,” I said, the spell suddenly broken
A gulf beginning to deepen between us
Yet she drew me back, putting her arm in mine and pulling me close
“We shall see,” she said with a smile
“Let us go to the fountain and drink and...
It is true, I am parched for both love and drink”
“I cannot move as you did through this sweeping dance,” I said
“I have not your grace. Not yet”
“Etienne, don’t be silly
It was not I who moved through the dance
It was the dance that moved past me. About and around
The current does not divert the island
Nor is stone pushed aside by the stream
It is the water that flows
Not island or stone
Let them be what they are…
And let yourself be what you were meant to be; my companion”
“Why is it at the center? Why a fountain in the midst of the dance?”
As we moved toward the center, the dance streaming past,
A river of swirls and eddies running before and behind
Never a touch or glance toward us, yet stirring the air
She laced her fingers with mine, and spoke to me
“Life is at the center of the dance,” she said
“To drink is to live ~ and the dead do not drink;
Life is at the center of all things, Etienne”
“Is that what I was? Dead?”
And then she spoke the word I had not before heard
Nor since forgotten…
“Not yet, my love”
“My love,” I repeated, “…my love”
“Yes, you are my love, Etienne”
In the midst of the dance
Somewhere between life and death;
The fountain and the shore
We stopped; the world swept by, the ocean rushed past, the dance moved ever on
And her arms swept over my shoulders drawing me close
Her smile for the briefest of eternities filled my sight
Before her lips swept me away in a dance of their own
We were the island she spoke of
The stone that parted waters, and for as long as our kiss held
As long as the taste of her lips, the scent of her hair
Filled my senses, I forgot about death
Forgot about life
Forgot about everything but the brush of soft lips
The dance of tongues, and our eyes
Open and drinking
Watching and swimming in each other’s depths
“I knew I loved you the moment your eyes touched mine
Though I was afraid to tell you, fearing you might return to the sea
And the dance, yet you stayed”
“Where would I have gone, Etienne? Where between heaven and hell
Between life and death, where would I go?” you asked
“I watched you for the longest while
Watched how you desired the dance, how you longed to dance
I watched your hands, watched as you sketched
And I wondered how you viewed the dance, how you drew our lines
How you, on the edge of death, viewed life
And I saw in your eye a wistful dream that awoke in me
A desire I thought long dead…
I did not know if I could love you
But I had to know
And now I do, and I find I am still thirsty, Etienne
For life… with you”
“But you know nothing of me, Angelina,” I cautioned
“Don’t I?” you replied
“Have you not danced me magnificently?
What more need I learn? I have read the lines of your earth*
Saw what manner of grain grows there. So come,
Let us go to the fountain and seal our love, and drink of life”
I took your hand in mine…
It was my first act of confidence, inspired by a desire to live
Born of a desire to belong at your side, in your arms, and in your heart
And I led you in a dance that brought us nearer each turn to the waters of life
To the consummation of love, of devotion ~ a cool and heady drink ~
Awaiting us there at the very heart of life
And on we danced, moving like stars about the galactic core
Merging at last, emerging from the stream to the bright wet shores of life
The great fountain rose before us like a mighty ziggurat, gleaming like pearl
And ringed about by Orsel maids, pitchers tipped and brimming
From which wine fell like rain, filling our glasses
Ambrosial mists covered our skin
And together we shone glistening wet and
Bright like the sun
And we raised our glasses to toast the fates
That joined our threads and wove the pattern
Of years to come, and our lives
Within both weft and warp
“To Angelina,” I smiled, falling deep into your eyes,
“To my dearest friend and most cherished lover,
I vow to love you,
To the last breath I breathe, and beyond
For I was destined to love you,
Born to be your lover,
To dance with no other but you…”
“And to you, My Etienne
I will be your harbor, safe and warm
When storms threaten, and oceans build
I too will love you to my dying breath, ever mindful of your heart
I will love you and no one else
To the end of my days, but again, there is a price:
You must always remember that how you dance me
Tells the world how you love me
And you must love me such that
The world would be envious
Wanting what I have, but never can or will…
To my Etienne, to our love,
And the envy of a world!”
We drank from our glasses then drank from each others lips
In a kiss that, to this day has never left me
~ And it was a rich wine indeed, thick like honey upon our lips ~
Above all else, you inspire in me a desire to be one with the dance
To be one with you, in all things
And so I have sought daily to never lose the feel of that
One beautiful kiss, sweet ambrosia misting our faces
Our lips heavy with wine, and our senses drunk
With love and wanting…
And to live each day remembering my promise
To make an entire world envious
There are many things I sought to find at the dance, And you, my most secret of dreams,
But what I found far surpassed any hope or dream. Like my sketches
~ Poor imitations of life
And with your gift of awakening I was made to recall a verse of song…
“Gold and diamonds cast their spell It’s not for me I know it well
The riches that I seek are waiting on the other side
There’s more than I can measure
In the treasures of the love that I can find…” **
And what had I hoped to find? I had come to dance never expecting to dance…
And finding a dance, changed my life forever, to the reshaping of my soul
The deconstruction of a name I walked within
The resurrection of a name in the throes of a dance
And the resonance of a name
Spun from dreams and cast like nets
From your own perfect lips
To the capture of my very heart and soul
My fair Angelina
--ELAshley
010302.115718.6
Many Revisions
Culminating in this
Final Revision:
102107.125628.6
041610.113811.1
_______________
* "The lines of my earth, so brittle, unfertile, and ready to die.
I need a drink, but the well has run dry." --Sixpence None the Richer
** "The Wall" --Kansas
The Gardens of Loveplay
Chapters 1 & 2
Author's Foreword
This is a story of Venice, but not the Venice you may have visited, or once lived, or dreamt of seeing. This is also a story of love. But what else would such a tale be about? It is a tale of conspiracies, jealousies, broken hearts and the binding of souls, one to another. Within these pages you will find a world strangely at peace, boats that float on air, and an angel in search of redemption.
“A Priori: A Glimpse of Heaven”
It was a moment in time, the space between the beat of martial drums, or a Curlew’s beating wings reaching for the heights of heaven. It hammered with the delicate stroke of chance and fortune. Etienne looked in awe upon the Angel that stood on the fountain’s bowl, his eyes rapt with wonder, and watching as she lifted away the snowy dress that clung wetly to her breasts and the creamy skin of her stomach. Her hair fell away long and moist, like molten gold, or corn silk and honey.
The sounds of the world dimmed and slowed. The mists that rose from the churning of the fountain’s waters were a gossamer veil, clinging coolly to her dress, skin and buttery tresses. The world had dimmed, but she did not. This was not a vision.
And if this were true, it was also true that the world slowed - the space between moments. Sounds not only dimmed but also grew heavy and distant. The splash of the fountain’s issue, the call of vendors, and the laughter of children, the old men playing at chess beneath the dark awnings of the ristorante, they all seemed frozen in one moment of revelation… an Angel had alighted upon the edge of the fountain, in the Piazza della Sognatore. And her gaze was fixed upon a single pair of eyes.
Etienne stared dumbfounded. His grip grew slack and the flowers in his hand fell to earth, their purpose forgotten, and their scent lost within the heavy air. The piazza was rich with the soft beckoning whispers of hot breads, olives, tart red wines and pastries. But even these voices grew quiet until only the vision that was no vision spoke, that creature of light and love standing on the fountains edge.
“Come love me.” Her eyes of fiery blue, calling…
He stepped toward her, struck dumb, and oblivious to all else until an arm linked itself in his with an insistence that pulled him back.
“There you are!” came a demanding voice at his side. The world suddenly grew and leapt forward, like sprinters off the mark, shattering the Siren’s song, and he was pulled away into the crowd. The spell was broken, the flowers trod underfoot, and the Angel gone.
“The Severing of Ties”
“Oh, Etienne, must I explain everything to you?” She sighed. “How long have you lived in Venice? Have you learned nothing?” She led him through the piazza, both arms wrapped on his, and staring defiantly at anyone who dared get in their way. People moved to one side when they saw her eyes.
She marched him across the cobbled square to the first of many streets that would eventually lead to the small ristorante she liked, the one across from the convent. She had insisted he take her there many times over the months of their tumultuous relationship. The wine was one week too acidic, the next too sweet, but she seemed not to notice. The fare wasn’t much better. Etienne despised the place, but for the sake of harmony always allowed himself to be dragged there. He would eat little and compliment Serafina, the cook and proprietress, who all but adored Pia. But Pia only took him there that she might stare at the bronze gates across the tiny square, the gates that led to paradise itself. And it was there that they would say their farewells, for she was to enter in that very day, and pledge herself to God, before the Mother Superior herself.
He fought a desire to protest. He agreed to walk her to the convent gates if she promised to behave, and she had, with the most charming of smiles she had, but her moods were chameleon-like, changing with every shadow and subtle hue. She sighed. “You have seen them passing overhead every day for all of three weeks now.” She sighed again. “You cannot be so stupid as to still not know why.” And she smiled, thinking herself clever.
“Pia… I have never been stupid.” His voice was flat, though it rang in the narrow street they entered, their heels striking echoes within its narrow confines. “Of course I’ve seen them, but again you misunderstand me. I merely wish to know why they continue on their peregrination, no amount of conversation or study has ever proferred to me a satisfactory answer.” He began to punctuate his speech with gestures from his free hand. “The Pope will not let them set foot upon the earth except in the Holy City. Look at them! They are ragged! Their wings are grimed and abused… they look pitiful.” Looking up, he watched as they moved across a field of sky framed by the rooftops sixty feet above. For weeks the ghostly creatures had been flying overhead, by the millions. Occasionally one would drop down and settle upon a wall or statuary, careful not to touch the earth, shattering whatever stonework it touched, but someone would soon chase it back into the sky, shooing with an apron or jacket as though it were merely a pigeon, and not an Angel of God.
“They are shut out from heaven, Etienne.” Pia said, ignoring his growing anger “God has turned his back on them.”
“And we should do the same?”
“You would go against the will of God?” She turned to look at him with eyes wide smoldering dangerously, her face a mask of contempt.
“I would show compassion!” he argued.
“That is enough!” She snapped. “We will not speak of this any longer!” And he knew she would not.
“Did you see that whore at the fountain?” She demanded, changing tack. “It amazes me that God loves such filthy creatures… but He does. It just stood there, showing off. Disgusting!”
“It?” He asked. “How can you be so callous? You who claim to love God enough to accept Holy Orders, and yet you cannot see the people you would serve as human. They are inanimate to you, without souls... animals. You are too cruel and insensitive for such a commission.”
“Etienne!”
“No, you will listen.” He said, now truly angry, working to keep it from showing on his face “You do not even know that woman, and yet…”
“Did you see her?” She cut in “Wet and showing herself to everyone in the Piazza? A decent woman would not behave so. And you! Staring at her! I do not know why I tolerate you. Standing there like a dumb ox, your mouth collecting bugs. I forbid you to go there again!”
“I will go where I choose, Pia. Besides, are you not joining the Sisters this very day? I am not a child to be told what I can and cannot do, or to whom I can and cannot speak. You have made it quite clear that we are only friends, and yet you still wish to control me like I was your wayward husband, or errant child. It’s not as though I have never asked you to marry me, but you do not love me enough.”
She tugged at his arm, sullen and quiet. “I must be there by the third bell.” She said.
“There is time, Pia.”
“Etienne. Could you love me... I mean, be my husband? I mean, if I were not taking my vows this afternoon?” She was still angry, but cooling quickly.
“We are too different, Pia.” He sighed. “You see the world as an evil waiting to devour the righteous, while I see only the world, people, trying to survive in a harsh world. With you everything is good or evil, light or dark, but I see the shadows of those things that stand between.”
“Why must everything be a poem with you?” She asked. “Must you always speak so?”
He laughed. “The world is a poem. You are a poem. Every man, woman and child is a poem.”
“The world is not that beautiful, Etienne.”
“And that is why we could never be happy together. Because I believe it is. The world is beautiful beyond the ability of words to describe. Pictures but glance the surface. Poems, however, they allow us to see in a new light, from a new perspective, but that doesn’t mean the beauty was never there. Our lives are sometimes so filled with this or that, we neglect to stop and look at the beauty that surrounds our every waking breath.”
“You are hopeless, but sweet.” She said with a quiet voice.
The streets, that had only a few days before been filled with revelers in the gowns and costumes of Carnival, seemed to have lost their magic. The buildings lining the street were just as old, and their facades had grown somehow less magnificent. Pia had looked radiant in her gown that night, but his heart had not been in the evening. He wore a brave face and smiled where he should, and taking care not to laugh where he should not.
That evening was their last together. He made love to her, but his heart was not in it, and he could not stay the night in her bed. He kissed her cheek as she lay sleeping and walked through the darkened streets of Venice to the apartment he rented, and his own bed.
She sent a letter the next day to say she was entering the convent, asking him if he would walk with her and share a last glass of wine.
He couldn’t refuse.
The sun was just beginning to cast long shadows when they entered the small square. The mid bell struck, and she looked to the bronze gates longingly. Yet there was fear in her eyes.
“It is almost time.” She said. “Come let’s have a last glass of wine and say our goodbyes.”
The wine was no better than usual, stinging his tongue, and leaving a sour taste in his mouth. The bread was fresh, but hard, and the cheese dry. He ordered some olives, that they might mask the taste of the wine.
“What do you want to do with your life, Etienne?” Pia asked, looking into his eyes.
“I want to create beautiful things. Beautiful art, sculpture, poetry… a beautiful life filled with beautiful things. A beautiful wife. Beautiful children. A beautiful life together with someone I can give my whole heart to.”
“Why could you not give this to me?”
“I have never felt equal to you, Pia.” He whispered. “You have always made me feel as though I were an afterthought. Someone you came to when you needed comforting, but not willing to be the same for me. Every time I have tried to show you my heart you have turned me away, unwilling to look, unwilling to care. Your needs have always come first. I might as well have been your gardener, for that is all I have been. And that is all you have ever wanted, it seems, someone to care for the things in your life that needed tending, while my own needs were relegated to the potters shed.” He looked at her, wondering when the anger would explode, but she sat quietly and began to cry.
“How long have we known each other Etienne?” she asked.
“Ten years or more. I remember when we first met.”
“That little café on the Seine”
“Yes.” He smiled.
“In all this time I have never made you feel as though I loved you?” Her eyes begged for a lie.
But he would not. “Yes, Pia.” He smiled. “You have on occasion made me feel very loved. But I need more than the ‘occasional’ love and acceptance you offer. I need daily care. I need a kiss or caress, a smile full of hinting, and a lover who loves to love and be loved.” He lowered his eyes… “I need these things every day, you do not.”
“I am not sure I can truly love any man, Etienne. My father…”
“I know.”
“I have strung you along these many years and you have been faithful. I know you have. I want you to be happy. I want you to find what you are looking for. But I don’t want you to forget me… is that selfish?”
“Of course not, Pia” He smiled.
“Last week, when we made love. I knew if would be our last time. It was so wonderful. I hope you find her.”
“Her?” he asked startled. His mind leapt to the image of an Angel poised upon the lip of a fountain…
“Yes, the woman who will make you happy. Though I will be very jealous.” And she laughed, then sighed. “I have something for you.” She said, drawing an envelope from her purse. She set it upon the table amid the olives and the wine. “Take it.”
It was thick and bulky. “What is it?” He asked.
“30 Million lira, and the deed to the apartment you rent. You have sacrificed much for me, and this is something I felt I could do for you.” His eyes widened.
“I cannot accept this, Pia. It is too much. Far too much.”
“Nonsense. Don’t be a fool, Etienne. I have not bankrupt myself. I want to know you are taken care of. As you have taken care of me, all these years, never once complaining. You are a sweet man, and I fear that I may have done you an injustice.” Her tears were heavy drops that swelled and rolled from her eyes. “I love you Etienne, but I love God more.”
The third bell struck. The bronze gates opened. The Mother Superior and two sisters stood within the entrance, waiting.
“I must go.” Pia stood, brushing crumbs from her dress. “I will miss fine clothes,” she laughed, drying her eyes, and wiping the tears from her face.
Etienne took her hand and set it in his arm, and walked her to the waiting sisters and the doors that would shut her from his life for good.
He kissed her lips and smiled for her. “Now, you be a good girl, Pia.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I have always loved you, Pia”
“Will I see you again?” She was suddenly afraid, and began crying once more.
“Of course you will, but this is where our lives diverge. We part here as friends and we will remain so. I swear it.”
“Will you visit me?”
“If it is permitted. From time to time.”
“Be happy, Etienne.”
----
The sun was setting over the Piazza, in reds and amber and deep shades of violet. Pia was gone. The Angel was gone. Ten years of his life were gone. He had spent the remainder of the day, inquiring of the Angel that had stood at the fountain, but none knew her name, or would not tell.
He sat at the ristorante and drank wine, hoping to wash away the pain that had suddenly grown too heavy for his heart, and he began to cry, not caring who saw or heard. He pulled from his satchel the battered journal he carried with him and began to write, rambling at first, allowing his pain a voice, and he made himself a resolution, resolving in himself to discover the Angel again. He would return and watch. And wait. However long it took.
ELAshley
2002
Author's Foreword
This is a story of Venice, but not the Venice you may have visited, or once lived, or dreamt of seeing. This is also a story of love. But what else would such a tale be about? It is a tale of conspiracies, jealousies, broken hearts and the binding of souls, one to another. Within these pages you will find a world strangely at peace, boats that float on air, and an angel in search of redemption.
Romance is a blanket woven from deep affection, and a desire to fulfill another's desire. Perfection in romance is when both share the work of weaving.
--Angelina Marni
“A Priori: A Glimpse of Heaven”
It was a moment in time, the space between the beat of martial drums, or a Curlew’s beating wings reaching for the heights of heaven. It hammered with the delicate stroke of chance and fortune. Etienne looked in awe upon the Angel that stood on the fountain’s bowl, his eyes rapt with wonder, and watching as she lifted away the snowy dress that clung wetly to her breasts and the creamy skin of her stomach. Her hair fell away long and moist, like molten gold, or corn silk and honey.
The sounds of the world dimmed and slowed. The mists that rose from the churning of the fountain’s waters were a gossamer veil, clinging coolly to her dress, skin and buttery tresses. The world had dimmed, but she did not. This was not a vision.
And if this were true, it was also true that the world slowed - the space between moments. Sounds not only dimmed but also grew heavy and distant. The splash of the fountain’s issue, the call of vendors, and the laughter of children, the old men playing at chess beneath the dark awnings of the ristorante, they all seemed frozen in one moment of revelation… an Angel had alighted upon the edge of the fountain, in the Piazza della Sognatore. And her gaze was fixed upon a single pair of eyes.
Etienne stared dumbfounded. His grip grew slack and the flowers in his hand fell to earth, their purpose forgotten, and their scent lost within the heavy air. The piazza was rich with the soft beckoning whispers of hot breads, olives, tart red wines and pastries. But even these voices grew quiet until only the vision that was no vision spoke, that creature of light and love standing on the fountains edge.
“Come love me.” Her eyes of fiery blue, calling…
He stepped toward her, struck dumb, and oblivious to all else until an arm linked itself in his with an insistence that pulled him back.
“There you are!” came a demanding voice at his side. The world suddenly grew and leapt forward, like sprinters off the mark, shattering the Siren’s song, and he was pulled away into the crowd. The spell was broken, the flowers trod underfoot, and the Angel gone.
“The Severing of Ties”
“Oh, Etienne, must I explain everything to you?” She sighed. “How long have you lived in Venice? Have you learned nothing?” She led him through the piazza, both arms wrapped on his, and staring defiantly at anyone who dared get in their way. People moved to one side when they saw her eyes.
She marched him across the cobbled square to the first of many streets that would eventually lead to the small ristorante she liked, the one across from the convent. She had insisted he take her there many times over the months of their tumultuous relationship. The wine was one week too acidic, the next too sweet, but she seemed not to notice. The fare wasn’t much better. Etienne despised the place, but for the sake of harmony always allowed himself to be dragged there. He would eat little and compliment Serafina, the cook and proprietress, who all but adored Pia. But Pia only took him there that she might stare at the bronze gates across the tiny square, the gates that led to paradise itself. And it was there that they would say their farewells, for she was to enter in that very day, and pledge herself to God, before the Mother Superior herself.
He fought a desire to protest. He agreed to walk her to the convent gates if she promised to behave, and she had, with the most charming of smiles she had, but her moods were chameleon-like, changing with every shadow and subtle hue. She sighed. “You have seen them passing overhead every day for all of three weeks now.” She sighed again. “You cannot be so stupid as to still not know why.” And she smiled, thinking herself clever.
“Pia… I have never been stupid.” His voice was flat, though it rang in the narrow street they entered, their heels striking echoes within its narrow confines. “Of course I’ve seen them, but again you misunderstand me. I merely wish to know why they continue on their peregrination, no amount of conversation or study has ever proferred to me a satisfactory answer.” He began to punctuate his speech with gestures from his free hand. “The Pope will not let them set foot upon the earth except in the Holy City. Look at them! They are ragged! Their wings are grimed and abused… they look pitiful.” Looking up, he watched as they moved across a field of sky framed by the rooftops sixty feet above. For weeks the ghostly creatures had been flying overhead, by the millions. Occasionally one would drop down and settle upon a wall or statuary, careful not to touch the earth, shattering whatever stonework it touched, but someone would soon chase it back into the sky, shooing with an apron or jacket as though it were merely a pigeon, and not an Angel of God.
“They are shut out from heaven, Etienne.” Pia said, ignoring his growing anger “God has turned his back on them.”
“And we should do the same?”
“You would go against the will of God?” She turned to look at him with eyes wide smoldering dangerously, her face a mask of contempt.
“I would show compassion!” he argued.
“That is enough!” She snapped. “We will not speak of this any longer!” And he knew she would not.
“Did you see that whore at the fountain?” She demanded, changing tack. “It amazes me that God loves such filthy creatures… but He does. It just stood there, showing off. Disgusting!”
“It?” He asked. “How can you be so callous? You who claim to love God enough to accept Holy Orders, and yet you cannot see the people you would serve as human. They are inanimate to you, without souls... animals. You are too cruel and insensitive for such a commission.”
“Etienne!”
“No, you will listen.” He said, now truly angry, working to keep it from showing on his face “You do not even know that woman, and yet…”
“Did you see her?” She cut in “Wet and showing herself to everyone in the Piazza? A decent woman would not behave so. And you! Staring at her! I do not know why I tolerate you. Standing there like a dumb ox, your mouth collecting bugs. I forbid you to go there again!”
“I will go where I choose, Pia. Besides, are you not joining the Sisters this very day? I am not a child to be told what I can and cannot do, or to whom I can and cannot speak. You have made it quite clear that we are only friends, and yet you still wish to control me like I was your wayward husband, or errant child. It’s not as though I have never asked you to marry me, but you do not love me enough.”
She tugged at his arm, sullen and quiet. “I must be there by the third bell.” She said.
“There is time, Pia.”
“Etienne. Could you love me... I mean, be my husband? I mean, if I were not taking my vows this afternoon?” She was still angry, but cooling quickly.
“We are too different, Pia.” He sighed. “You see the world as an evil waiting to devour the righteous, while I see only the world, people, trying to survive in a harsh world. With you everything is good or evil, light or dark, but I see the shadows of those things that stand between.”
“Why must everything be a poem with you?” She asked. “Must you always speak so?”
He laughed. “The world is a poem. You are a poem. Every man, woman and child is a poem.”
“The world is not that beautiful, Etienne.”
“And that is why we could never be happy together. Because I believe it is. The world is beautiful beyond the ability of words to describe. Pictures but glance the surface. Poems, however, they allow us to see in a new light, from a new perspective, but that doesn’t mean the beauty was never there. Our lives are sometimes so filled with this or that, we neglect to stop and look at the beauty that surrounds our every waking breath.”
“You are hopeless, but sweet.” She said with a quiet voice.
The streets, that had only a few days before been filled with revelers in the gowns and costumes of Carnival, seemed to have lost their magic. The buildings lining the street were just as old, and their facades had grown somehow less magnificent. Pia had looked radiant in her gown that night, but his heart had not been in the evening. He wore a brave face and smiled where he should, and taking care not to laugh where he should not.
That evening was their last together. He made love to her, but his heart was not in it, and he could not stay the night in her bed. He kissed her cheek as she lay sleeping and walked through the darkened streets of Venice to the apartment he rented, and his own bed.
She sent a letter the next day to say she was entering the convent, asking him if he would walk with her and share a last glass of wine.
He couldn’t refuse.
The sun was just beginning to cast long shadows when they entered the small square. The mid bell struck, and she looked to the bronze gates longingly. Yet there was fear in her eyes.
“It is almost time.” She said. “Come let’s have a last glass of wine and say our goodbyes.”
The wine was no better than usual, stinging his tongue, and leaving a sour taste in his mouth. The bread was fresh, but hard, and the cheese dry. He ordered some olives, that they might mask the taste of the wine.
“What do you want to do with your life, Etienne?” Pia asked, looking into his eyes.
“I want to create beautiful things. Beautiful art, sculpture, poetry… a beautiful life filled with beautiful things. A beautiful wife. Beautiful children. A beautiful life together with someone I can give my whole heart to.”
“Why could you not give this to me?”
“I have never felt equal to you, Pia.” He whispered. “You have always made me feel as though I were an afterthought. Someone you came to when you needed comforting, but not willing to be the same for me. Every time I have tried to show you my heart you have turned me away, unwilling to look, unwilling to care. Your needs have always come first. I might as well have been your gardener, for that is all I have been. And that is all you have ever wanted, it seems, someone to care for the things in your life that needed tending, while my own needs were relegated to the potters shed.” He looked at her, wondering when the anger would explode, but she sat quietly and began to cry.
“How long have we known each other Etienne?” she asked.
“Ten years or more. I remember when we first met.”
“That little café on the Seine”
“Yes.” He smiled.
“In all this time I have never made you feel as though I loved you?” Her eyes begged for a lie.
But he would not. “Yes, Pia.” He smiled. “You have on occasion made me feel very loved. But I need more than the ‘occasional’ love and acceptance you offer. I need daily care. I need a kiss or caress, a smile full of hinting, and a lover who loves to love and be loved.” He lowered his eyes… “I need these things every day, you do not.”
“I am not sure I can truly love any man, Etienne. My father…”
“I know.”
“I have strung you along these many years and you have been faithful. I know you have. I want you to be happy. I want you to find what you are looking for. But I don’t want you to forget me… is that selfish?”
“Of course not, Pia” He smiled.
“Last week, when we made love. I knew if would be our last time. It was so wonderful. I hope you find her.”
“Her?” he asked startled. His mind leapt to the image of an Angel poised upon the lip of a fountain…
“Yes, the woman who will make you happy. Though I will be very jealous.” And she laughed, then sighed. “I have something for you.” She said, drawing an envelope from her purse. She set it upon the table amid the olives and the wine. “Take it.”
It was thick and bulky. “What is it?” He asked.
“30 Million lira, and the deed to the apartment you rent. You have sacrificed much for me, and this is something I felt I could do for you.” His eyes widened.
“I cannot accept this, Pia. It is too much. Far too much.”
“Nonsense. Don’t be a fool, Etienne. I have not bankrupt myself. I want to know you are taken care of. As you have taken care of me, all these years, never once complaining. You are a sweet man, and I fear that I may have done you an injustice.” Her tears were heavy drops that swelled and rolled from her eyes. “I love you Etienne, but I love God more.”
The third bell struck. The bronze gates opened. The Mother Superior and two sisters stood within the entrance, waiting.
“I must go.” Pia stood, brushing crumbs from her dress. “I will miss fine clothes,” she laughed, drying her eyes, and wiping the tears from her face.
Etienne took her hand and set it in his arm, and walked her to the waiting sisters and the doors that would shut her from his life for good.
He kissed her lips and smiled for her. “Now, you be a good girl, Pia.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I have always loved you, Pia”
“Will I see you again?” She was suddenly afraid, and began crying once more.
“Of course you will, but this is where our lives diverge. We part here as friends and we will remain so. I swear it.”
“Will you visit me?”
“If it is permitted. From time to time.”
“Be happy, Etienne.”
----
The sun was setting over the Piazza, in reds and amber and deep shades of violet. Pia was gone. The Angel was gone. Ten years of his life were gone. He had spent the remainder of the day, inquiring of the Angel that had stood at the fountain, but none knew her name, or would not tell.
He sat at the ristorante and drank wine, hoping to wash away the pain that had suddenly grown too heavy for his heart, and he began to cry, not caring who saw or heard. He pulled from his satchel the battered journal he carried with him and began to write, rambling at first, allowing his pain a voice, and he made himself a resolution, resolving in himself to discover the Angel again. He would return and watch. And wait. However long it took.
ELAshley
2002
We'll Take Our Crumpets Now
ELAshley
011416.121535.6
Revisions:
011416.024035.6
011416.024730.6
011416.085720.6
011416.121535.6
Revisions:
011416.024035.6
011416.024730.6
011416.085720.6
Obsession, Seduction -- A Candle Lit Parade
Light a candle on the doorstep
Let its flicker light the way
Turn out the porch light
~Let the candles light prevail
Say goodnight now to day
Light another in the front hall
Let its presence force a smile
Wondering where you are
And what you have in mind
Aching for you all the while
Light of candles on the staircase
Each step taken amid their glow
Follow the perfume
You left floating in air
To that place I’ve come to know
A single candle on the top step
A single stocking laid with care
Silk and satins strewn
~A candle lit parade
To your bedroom waiting there
Open the door to see you sleeping
Dozing naked in the light
One hundred candles
Making love to every curve
Of your soft skin in the night
Leaning in to kiss your shoulder
Brush a hand across your thigh
Whisper I love you
In your pretty little ear
And hear you softly sigh
Then draw in to your embrace
Take me deep into your soul
Let me fill you
Till spent and weary
Your womb burning as coal
Let the candles burn till morning
Let them burn while we make love
Nestled in your arms
I pledge my life to you
Sworn upon stars above
Could I ever be without you?
My heart find strength to beat?
When every waking thought
Is bent upon your love
When next our desires meet?
ELAshley
September 6, 2007
Revised:
103007.125206.6
Let its flicker light the way
Turn out the porch light
~Let the candles light prevail
Say goodnight now to day
Light another in the front hall
Let its presence force a smile
Wondering where you are
And what you have in mind
Aching for you all the while
Light of candles on the staircase
Each step taken amid their glow
Follow the perfume
You left floating in air
To that place I’ve come to know
A single candle on the top step
A single stocking laid with care
Silk and satins strewn
~A candle lit parade
To your bedroom waiting there
Open the door to see you sleeping
Dozing naked in the light
One hundred candles
Making love to every curve
Of your soft skin in the night
Leaning in to kiss your shoulder
Brush a hand across your thigh
Whisper I love you
In your pretty little ear
And hear you softly sigh
Then draw in to your embrace
Take me deep into your soul
Let me fill you
Till spent and weary
Your womb burning as coal
Let the candles burn till morning
Let them burn while we make love
Nestled in your arms
I pledge my life to you
Sworn upon stars above
Could I ever be without you?
My heart find strength to beat?
When every waking thought
Is bent upon your love
When next our desires meet?
ELAshley
September 6, 2007
Revised:
103007.125206.6
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