003 The Flutes Are Playing

The flutes are playing, my love, and I’m beginning to know you beginning to understand that we came here to dance around the table where a feast is laid among the oleander trees that spill their perfume (black oil of holy death, lover to lover) onto the spine of the nightfall.

The flutes are playing, my love, so loud and intoxicating and I’m following you through the fields through the prophecies written in the vines through the hidden paths that others before us abandoned and only you could find again and as the flutes play, we escape, we whisper, we hallucinate; we make the flowers gleam in the dark with our hearts our hearts, stars of the harvest Gods, stronger than time itself.