She awoke with a start, wondering if the night before had been a dream. It was not yet dawn- she could still see the faint glow of the fire a few feet away, eerily visible through the pale tendrils of morning mist that were curling around her. She sniffed and her heart began to race. Never could she mistake that wonderful odor-that amalgam of dust and mule, that medley of munificent mustiness, the potpourri that heated her blood to a level of lust that haunted her nights and bordered her days with strange dreams. He had been here! He had sat by her side and spoken to her, his words poetic and profound as only his utterances could be. She closed her eyes, and saw him again, in perfect detail. How could she not? Never once has she seen him clothed in anything other than those same alluvial garments, the gritty sediment left by the constant carress of the wind. She heard his voice again as it kissed her being with his gentle, husky song, "Yo! Mizz RAMBI!!! Girl!" Miltonic in its meter! Wordworthian in its wild wisdom, Alexandrine in its assonance! And she, being of no small metrical abilities herself, had whispered low, Take me!" a small kyrielle of such vast meaning and depth that he started, momentarily confused as he considered her proposition, before he muttered metaphorically, "Buyware the IDs of Jan for tho the b'ar sleepeth, slaughter the brute and lo! Beholdeth the Bull!" (Oh, Dante of the desert!!)...and he hastily rose, baptizing her in a slight cloud of reddish dust-yes, she could feel it still upon her soft and perfect skin.
But he was gone-had slipped away with the night stars, leaving her once again alone. "Come back for me." She whispered, a sylvan songstress. (Ah, Rosetti of the woods!!!) But there was only the stillness of the forest at break of day.
So once again, she rose, skin flushed with the touch of his memory, and thought, "It is time to move on." |
