Oh Monsieur!
How the ink
does betray this once unvarnished expanse of uncompromised quietude, as I wend a
wistful sangfroid into an arguably decadent mélange of mellow reminiscences!
Some vague souvenirs of yesterdays, feasting upon a siesta beneath the
generosities of a bruised elision… some decidedly frivolous, dallying with a scintilla
of the notion of a possible unfurled self… some embracing a vermilion-hued triumph
over an infidel ephemeron… and yet some others, scrupulously wheedling an acquaintance
of their radical selves with an ounce of blemished immortality, borrowed from a
slumbering tomorrow - All of these sweet-scented smidgens of an arguable
yester-me, somehow glibly waltz away into a cadence of saccharine nothingness. A
testimony indeed, to the recherché conspiracies of all those zillion tomorrows
that were marred and wasted on their pilgrimage to the Lethe!! Alas…
But Oh! Did not herein, evince the serendipity of being owned by the wilderness
of your amore, my Corsican raconteur?
