December 97
Whispers travel down bytes of light to transform me in my electronic state; here amidst the mind junkies I sprawl. Coaxed out of my silent reverie, I squint toward the sound that silent communication can ring. Loudly, toll that bell, that might speak of death of probabilities or not; mayhap only the death of mystique. Yet, and yet... she entwines me in this mind-speak that no one else seems to understand of me, and slaps me back against my fears. Who is this woman that I find speeding down this highway of light -- intellectually loved sensually lusted soulfully moved so that I quake in my solitude afraid to chance this wondrous woman who thinks I might be able to fly. Stunned, I can do naught but writhe on her line as she reels me in with the bait of intellect and anticipation that I crave like food -- Afraid to reveal that my wings are painted by Dante's dreams and might be darker than she believes.
~~ Tara Tambollio
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