Art by Norman E. Masters
Every woman is Your shrine, Beloved... the blush upon every ripened fruit is *Your* blush... their juiciness the heavenly *nectars* of You... For Who *are* You but Heaven on Earth once our eyes are opened to but *live* in Your bliss... Why then the fear before the approach of Your footfalls in the shadows past midnight, up the stairs? You came but to love for the briefest of moments... & reassure... & yet my fears were there moaning the words, over & over, struck dumb to all utterance, "Who arrre youuu....?" If we be not struck dumb, but remain caught up in the net of only our own words -- how are we to truly know You? Between the shhhhh! of a silent *listen!* & the next heart-in-the-throat moment of near-paralysis You came to me out of the Shadows of my life-dreaming... -- appearing so suddenly, out of nowhere now*here... & as quickly gone... Phantom fleetly-flicking in & out of my dream... (i thought it waking thruout the dream) & yet when our hands were raised to clap each others' in seal of our unity ...Your *touch* was real... phantom no more... "You need me, you *call* me," You said.