Portia Galactica ixPosted: May 1, 2016
There was something about this stranger that was sacerdotal in nature. How she stood atop the stairs, staring at the stars like a Chaldean. So as I approached from behind her, I tried to ignore her perfect posterior. Still, the scent of her perfume, or perhaps her womanhood, set me firmly in the mood, seeing as my head was raised and lip curled in full flehmen. Then I whispered in her ear and pleaded that she hear me out.
I said: sure thing – if I could – I’d sing for you that song by Saint Germain, but standing here I swear no sweet sound could spill… for ‘happiness seems but a dream and the pain is real’, as Voltaire once swore. And I’m so heartbroken that it feels like hell might be better, because at least in it I could access the elixir of escape, by taking a sip from the Lethe river and forget about life here on earth. But for what it’s worth, I think you could save me.
O, heavenly… fix this mess and mend my tattered soul, which for long has been an obstacle and liability, like the antlers of an elk, which in a dense forest are of little help and rather inhibit swift movement. And I hope from this wicked world you can deliver me, if you please – say yes, so everything can change – this evening, even this very moment!
© Heath Muchena, 2016