This Istanbul cold invades me, pervading every bit of me. I simpering shiver beneath its so unkindly clasping, me grasping that there is more to this, that somewhere between the pleasure and the pain, between breathing and being were moments of simple enduring honesty—a space, a place, a time so very extraordinary if only because in its utter banality it conveys such divinity— the perfectly quiet, subtle and unadorned moment when the greatest significance of life is expressed by nothing more than a touch.
There is a song that stays playing through my thoughts so compellingly calling me that I cannot help but soulful sing it aloud again and again wherever I may be and whoever might hear, following each and every note as it teases my memories from their reluctant slumber, drawing needfully my thoughts into a most insistent longing.
And I welcome it.
The voice of my soul sings to it, as I youthfully caper and dance and delight in the zealous joy that such a melody instills. The sounds are like colors, painting fields and flowers and the dreaming deepest woods, and even a distant strand where feet dive deep into the sand, and laughter splashes over the waves. You are the song I love to sing, the song that urges me to hope and desire, and to moonlight that glows across your so beautiful face.
there are strands of time that are effortless to follow as they wrap themselves gently meaningfully around my heart tugging teasing me forward to discover in the midst of all that is common around me that which is truly majestic
those moments now bid me pause and wonder at the pleasure of far more than a memory but an enduring vision of sensual you in summer enchanted, like the kiss of a sunlit day blessed by the barest glimpse of the eager adoring moon