Requiem For Love
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Nothing like a Tuscan sunset in winter. From my custom-made mahogany rocker I can espy the horizon through my Palladian Venetian west window. The sky is brushed with soft hues of pink, orange and violet. The scent of
premium Indian incense spice wafts through the air creating a restful mood while the flames in the fireplace crackle and dance before my eyes like a seductive siren. Casual sips of Masseto merlot warm my insides and temper the noise inside my head allowing me to collect my thoughts. The snow still glistens a bit from the fading sunlight. I watch a pair of nightjars flit from branch to branch on the bare linden tree like two lovers performing an aerial tango. A pair of Treviso slippers keep my feet warm on this particularly frigid day. Another Sunday nears it's end. Another weekend without...
twilight casts shadows
specters upon the landscape
moonbeams scatter ghosts
Monday sunrise unseen, hidden behind ashen clouds that pervade the empyrean as far as the eye can see. Not feeling well today. Sleep was elusive, the sound of rustling papers and the scent of her perfume tormenting me for hours on end. I reach for the manila envelope lying on the cherry coffee table made for us by her artisan grandfather and slowly loosen the clasp holding the flap closed. My Bialetti Moka pot of coffee is ready. As per my usual morning routine I pour my Italian espresso into a mug with my moniker on it and sit at the kitchen bar where I have prepared a breakfast for one. Just one more damned thing. Where did I put that William Henry 1211 Chablis pen?
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