"The air moves like a river and carries the clouds with it; just as running water carries all the things that float upon it" - Leonardo DaVinci, "Your words are my food your breath my wine" - Sarah Bernhardt, 'The story so far: In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.', All the world's a stage And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, An exercise in buddy breathing, “Play always as if in the presence of a master.” ― Robert Schumann, Entrance-d, missing the link, Orchestrated delights, pulling their strings
Lost and found — two tremulous players;
Their imperishable feast: yearning to be consumed.
Their chronicles: the confinement of restricted pleasures
Throughout time and guise, repeatedly resumed.
Baited breath awaits as ocular orbs observe,
As sweet wrappers rustle, critics’ poison pens poised,
Purposed for the passion-playing duo of sublimely aligned souls
In suspended animation, temporarily restrained.
In the obscurantic low-glow of purpling prose-red footlights,
Soft-whispered scripts stream gently from players’ lips,
Absorbed then muted by silence fallen beyond the fourth wall;
And onto them do smiles softly slip — both lovers’ concerns eclipsed.
And so the stage is set (pantalooned legs and hearts may break),
Quill strokes unsullied by trappings of the mask-less mundane,
As Final Call rings out an appeal, as strings and wings are plucked,
As curtains draw, exiting page left and right, the saga unfolds as told.