The mystery of the night

The mystery of the night can only be entered with a soul drunken with the ecstasy of the day. When the light no longer casts a shadow on weary limbs and cynical hearts, will darkness reveal its most secret blossoms. This is the time for mysticism. The ever-lonely march of separate bodies is but a coded transcription of the sound of the All making love to the All. The last cigarette falls to the ground unsmoked. Passion stirs but not in the flesh. The flesh is wiped clean of foot-prints and becomes transparent in darkness, in the crashing waves of the ocean. There's only a whisper left on the lips. There's moon-light, turning silver the golden streaks of hair. And two arms- stretched out, joining in the dance with the great beyond..