It is my favourite time of day
when from the west the evening sun
descends on the tops of the olive trees
and slowly dips them in a golden glow,
richer than the morning light,
shorter too, with a subtle melancholy
that only those who live their days fully
can truly understand.
Oh how fortunate are those of us
who now that night falls gently
awake anew, our bronzen skin
wrapped in swaying white dresses
and twigs of jasmin in our hair
we are escorted by our favourite knight,
and dance below the starlit canopy
or walk along the dark blue seas.
How could one ever leave this place
where time is not a commodity
but a witness of sensual awakening,
as fingertips follow the path of moonlight
along the rolling hills of shivering skin
and warm salt water curls around our feet
as if to tie a bond between the elements
easily broken but never forgotten.