Maybe it was the dark
Men, in walled gardens
Sweet words like
Honey,
Of life
Death, love.

Maybe it was the dark
Desire – a touch, a kiss
Forbidden, almost untasted
Lingering
On my lips like dew.

Maybe it was the dark
Nights of wine and spice
And the smell of the sea,
Rising
Softly over me, like silk.

Maybe it was the dark
Stairways up, always
Up to golden mosaics, and
Fragmented eyes
Seeing through me
Forever.

Or maybe… maybe it was darkness itself,
Waiting
In silence, gently
Like soft waves
Whispering,
Unfolding against my soul.