The woman lets herself be rocked by the wind that stirs the hammock.
She watches the night, bathed in light before her.
The moon plays hide-and-seek.
Reckless clouds try to dim her glow,
but to her, sovereign and unique, it hardly matters to be in the spotlight.
Seductive, mistress of many faces,
she retreats in the waning crescent, or rests in the new phase.
She grows over the weeks, and at last, surrenders completely —
full and radiant, as she is tonight.
The two vibrate at the same frequency; their cycles are one.
Then, an intruder approaches. The feminine tension hangs in the air.
He emerges softly, coming from the darkness.
The air thickens with passion.
The woman, taken by jealousy, senses that the love between him and the enchantress stretches across ages.
She suspects they meet in the early hours — for their secret, nightly rendezvous.
The moon, wanting to impress him, gleams with all her intensity.
The man wears a cloak of mist and dances across the lawn,
moving to the rhythm of the tides.
The woman notices her presence is ignored.
She rises, deciding to step onto the stage.
Afraid of breaking the magic of the moment, she feels the earth beneath her feet and walks slowly.
He ignores her presence and continues to dance freely.
Driven by an intense need to be part of the spectacle,
she realizes she must step into the scene.
She releases her scent.
Her aroma draws him in,
fascinated, he drinks the elixir from her cup.
She watches him with passion, like a master observing a masterpiece.
Her body becomes light, like paint on the tip of an artist’s brush.
She lets herself be guided, allowing him to shape her colors and contours.
She surrenders to the frantic, multicolored rhythm of the piece — which at last is complete.
An ancestral connection.
Ascending fertility.
Masculine and feminine merge in pleasure.
And the moon, silent, shines — a mere witness.
@rschumaher
