The Delicious Breath Of Rain Was In

The Generous Abundance Of Her Passion, Without Guile Or Trickery, Was Like A White Flame Which Penetrated And Found Response In Depths Of His Own Sensuous Nature That Had Never Yet Been Reached.

Does He Write To You? Never A Line. Does He Send You A Message? Never A Word. It Is Because He Loves You, Poor Fool, And Is Trying To Forget You, Since You Are Not Free To Listen To Him Or To Belong To Him.

He Greatly Valued His Possessions, Chiefly Because They Were His, And Derived Genuine Pleasure From Contemplating A Painting, A Statuette, A Rare Lace Curtain - No Matter What - After He Had Bought It And Placed It Among His Household Gods.

Who Can Tell What Metals The Gods Use In Forging The Subtle Bond Which We Call Sympathy, Which We Might As Well Call Love.

The City Atmosphere Certainly Has Improved Her. Some Way She Doesn't Seem Like The Same Woman.