I saw my lady looking out today from her bedroom window, a rare glimpse of her auburn hair in the morning sun.
I dream of walking with her in the gardens, holding hands and laughing at the Herms that stand guard over the threshold. I wonder long about why she spends all day now in siesta. Did I see her unclothed behind the shutter there?
I long to climb, to enter her chambers, stealing in through the moonlight, creeping past her sleeping maid and creaking open her cedar door. I wonder what she’d do, when I woke her. Would she recognise my face from her dreams, or from those merest of glances exchanged as I pass by her gate twice each day?
For now I’ll watch, just watch, for sometimes touching a dream is akin to sullying a fresh spring with a drop of blood.
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2 comments:
I loved this post. And not only its language, but the contents, too. Maybe you will laugh at me, but I can be very sensitive if it comes to writings like this.
It sounds a bit strange, I know, but sometimes I would like to be a Lady like she is (and maybe every female being could say the same).
I like this new venture Paul. And what do you know? As I read My Lady's Chamber, I listened to two songs in succession that could be sound tracks to the picture story: Zhane - "Crush" and The Roots and Musiq Soulchild - "Break You Off".
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