Sweet Night

Beside this building; across my room; in this noisy, ever weary city, is a place much like an oasis in a scorched desert - my paradise, my serene sanctuary, home of my wild fantasies.
Always, at night, after a whole day's toil and fatigue, I look to it and wait in patience. And then, like rain, as sweet as honey as it touches dry and barren soil, my woman - mine, for no other man claimed her his own but me (in the secret of my mind) - in her beautiful silhouette against her scarlet curtains, enters the scene, starts with a couple of gestures, obviously undressing, and makes her lovely curves more seducing.
I would stare indulgently, wide-eyed, speechless at the sight. The ecstasy it brings sometimes tells me I could jump and cross over the space between my room and hers, and my mind would then tell me otherwise.
I think I can. But I think I cannot. I can hold it. Can I?

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