When I open my eyes from the reverie spun by twisting music and soporific incense I see the clean white light of the moon spilling through the orange glow of the candles onto the wine red carpet plush beneath my feet.

Your picture is framed before me. Tracing your profile with a finger, a tear tracks its slow way down my cheek.

My eyes shut again, visions of your skin swimming behind them. Fingertips remembering the touch of your hair. Ears, listening hard for the sound of your voice. Holding my precious jewels of memory, fondling them obscenely, I wait for you to come.

A shiver up my bare back, but do not move to close the window.

Dredge up the time we first met, not guilty about not knowing what you were wearing, just too entranced by your face, too engulfed by the beauty of your eyes to care, too entranced by the words you said. Remembering it vividly and not at all.

Pull my eyelids open with an effort of will to gaze at your picture again, my head slumped against my chest, covering myself with the photograph. Just holding it, just staring, I wait for you to come.

Eyelids falling together again, not able to stop them.

I hear your voice outside, calling to me. Try to answer, but it is hard, so very hard.

But when you walk through the wall, I have the strength to take your hand.