[My excuse for this experiment and its first chapter are in my entry from 20 January 2025 . . . and the image is a detail from a junk ad.]
I have entered my paradise, my woman, my wife: I am garnering my patchouli for my bouquet; I am devouring my dark chocolate and liquid caramel, imbibing my nectar with my leaves of coca: join with me, dear comrades; partake freely, even exuberantly, dear soul.
I am dreaming while fully conscious: this is my lover’s voice, exclaiming while knocking: Let me in, my woman, my wife, my panther, my immaculate: because I have fed on honey-dew in the night; now my mane is aglisten with starry droplets.
I slipped out of my suitcoat; why would I redon it? I took off my boots; why would I lace them back up?
My soulmate moved his hand to the verge of the entryway, and my inwards warmed and sang with bliss.
I sprang up to let my soulmate in; and my fingers dripped with fragrance, and my hands with lovely scented ointment, as I grasped at the knob.
But when I opened to welcome in my soulmate, he had withdrawn himself – he had vanished! My heart swooned at this: I looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen; I cried out to him, but there was no reply.
The policemen who were monitoring the Twin Cities in their squad car then confronted me, they beat me, they injured me; the officers of the law tore my dress and stole my ring.
I adjure you, dear ladies of Minneapolis, if you see my soulmate, deliver to him this message: Your lover is at present on the brink of a collapse.
Why does your soulmate trump every other soulmate, O blessed damozel with perfect beauty? why does your soulmate trump every other soulmate, so that you adjure us?
My soulmate is hale and fair-skinned, above multitudes the kingliest.
His mind is like a maze of flawless diamonds, the fiery plumes of his mane are undulant.
His eyes are like the eyes of a cormorant beside a glittering waterfall, suffused with light and hypnotic as coins.
His temples are like an aromatic bouquet, like sprigs of fresh lilac: his lips as coca leaves, beaded with honey-dew.
His hands are like mirrors reflecting topaz: his chest is like pure gold bedazzled with emeralds.
His legs are like steel buildings, anchored upon a poured concrete foundation: his visage is like the brightness of East Asia, like the phoenix in the palm.
His tongue is eloquent: indeed, he is wholly breathtaking. Dear ladies of Minneapolis, look your fill: This is my soulmate, and this is my friend.
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