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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Doing yoga in the dark long before sunrise. I heard a noise out in the street, a wayward son comes home. A car door opened, a muffled laugh, a quiet female voice,"...tomorrow.", a closed door clunk, a departing car, and then silence for a moment. I heard the grind of garage door spring, and the creak of back door screen. I heard the quiet surreptitious trek through kitchen, hall and past my darkened room. I then heard the door close to his own, attaining sanctuary. In his airy wake, as I practiced my asanas, I caught the sweet subtle scent of a memory, long submerged, of a similar trek made many years ago. Through the kitchen, hall and home I had gone, desperate to avoid discovery. I believed that I was bathed in an electric glowing plasma of heat and sweat, in short, an insidious perfumery. I was overwhelmed by my senses, incapable of speech, desperate to avoid encounter, determined to attain my own sanctuary. Once gained, my thoughts then turned on how to retain the vestiges of the night. The smell of clothes, the damp of secret places and lingering perfumes were savored with the still vivid memories of moments of sensual unreality, ecstatic good fortune and dreams of what, "...tomorrow.", might bring. All these memories past and much more, came to me on the tendrils of a scent, while doing yoga in the dark
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