Upon the breath of a scowling desert zephyr beset with scarlet twists, the ruddy sunlight filters through your Sun Factor-4 shades. Your eyes flutter furtively like a mad compass slobbering on the dusty verdant plums and melons adorning the Souk. But most pleasure is gathered when the eyes carve a gaze, quite innocently, upon the delicacies of women. It could be anything that may drive you to licentious heights and dirty thoughts; the mere shape of a breast visible through the taut fabric that wraps it from the eyes of capriciousness; wraps it tight like cling-film, the embroidered cloth stretched over it; giving form to the areolic perkness. But what really turns you feverish and nourishes your giddy heart are the little saucy enticements; the dirty details : The soft electric fingers; silvery nailed and delicate, feeling through the softly ripening plums. The impish henna pattern that snakes its way coyly up the back of a naked ankle disappearing behind the iron curtain of a burqah. Hah! Innocent or coquettish? A gentle bite of pouting bottom-lip held there just long enough to tangle thoughts – mere reflection or something less innocent? The black strap of a brassiere; raised outline visible from behind sinister on a sea of pink flesh; pink and buoyant with the desires of undressing. The slit; the slit of eyes furnished in kohl; dark and sensuous where gazes are lost and the deepest well of mystery known to man.
Such deviltry to ravish the imagination! Such spunk! Flashes of skin. Brief tumults of delirium attracting like flies - like prickly pear. Velcro to your heart.
Above Ali’s coffee shop on the corner of Bayt al Ghurair lies the chanteuse; she - redolent in flowing brocade under a phosphorous sky. False eye lashes sweeping vast curves under the stars and then plucked in the mirror under a slab of red light drowned out by the lullabies of the sugary street. She raises her leg; a glimpse of stocking where it is fastened above the knee, and a stretch of forbidden flesh. Your Heart inebriated. A little bird dances inside your stomach.
Her gaze breaks like the sun through leaves. Like a gilded ray on a sun-beam, she smiles. You catch a rosy blushing and your desires latch on to her lips. What was that? Like a burst of lightning glowing for a brief moment, the flash illuminating a vast expanse in your heart; barren, arid, and then you cower away; shrink into the shadowy void. The heart drunk with joy with a sorrow that never fails to trail behind it; like the winds of the desert of the Empty Quarter.
Your heart pulsates like a milky star and then ceases like the halos of a candle hemmed in by the darkness. What a beautiful world it is! What joy! What pleasures! Sonorous notes that strum the tendons laid bare. And such blessed creatures that walk it! - the smashing of shattered hearts trailing behind in their wake as they swish across the surface in flowing garbs and perfumed air; like a tumultuous Coming. I await thee storm of the femme lycanthropes.
You walk through this deluge bombarded with conflicting signals and confused motivations. It's all a game played out in the Souk of furtive eyes, plums and breasts. These gulleys of saucery; gyrating with human flesh. Shrieks of those pleasured fill the musky air; mingling with the thoughts of old humanity laid bare.
