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Edited 23rd June 4:05am
goldenmyst
touch is perseids on a movieless night
Their place of original magic is Africa, where on a movieless night, the primal mystery is his Kirlian aura upon her bare skin and the touch of ghost light from Perseids upon her eyes. Though her soul has known her man through many lifetimes the virginity of her body is renewed with each rebirth. So she feels the magic with each christening. The nuptial knot is never broken for these lovers who turn through centuries of summer in their karmic migrations across Buddhafields where they join hands to ascend on ribbons of Dharma. They are lovers from a past life who can be visualized in a circle of yurts of yak herders on the vast steppe of Asia, or among the Peruvian Indian's tents scattered in a lush green valley in the snow-capped Andes; or when they were Aborigines dancing around a fire in the cool outback night; or the guardians of Turtle Island who handle serpents in the Hopi snake dance that is so ancient that the writer Frank Waters states that it is most certainly the oldest prayer.
Cover Art: Bearded man with hand on shoulder of young woman. Photo by Fitz W. Guerin. Rights Advisory: No known restrictions on publication. No Date. Source: Library of Congress
Cover Art: Bearded man with hand on shoulder of young woman. Photo by Fitz W. Guerin. Rights Advisory: No known restrictions on publication. No Date. Source: Library of Congress
Edited 23rd May 3:58am
goldenmyst
he oils her in the delicacy of a rice paper haiga
We lived on the sidelines of the yuppiedom depicted in Hollywood blockbusters where people dream big but eat ramen noodle soup at night while drinking the broth to sustain them in their hungry hustle.
Her brogue was the Irish Cream in my coffee when we filled our mugs with arabica instead of chicory but wore threadbare jeans that once were a fashion statement but became baggy from a diet of pasta and pizza sauce that goes with the gourmet wine drunk in a toast to Gatsby while still in our roaring twenties.
Cover Photo: Man painting woman's back. Harris & Ewing, photographer, Rights Advisory: No known restrictions on publication. 1925 January. Source: Library of Congress
Her brogue was the Irish Cream in my coffee when we filled our mugs with arabica instead of chicory but wore threadbare jeans that once were a fashion statement but became baggy from a diet of pasta and pizza sauce that goes with the gourmet wine drunk in a toast to Gatsby while still in our roaring twenties.
Cover Photo: Man painting woman's back. Harris & Ewing, photographer, Rights Advisory: No known restrictions on publication. 1925 January. Source: Library of Congress
