Kowloon-A Love Letter

From 40 floors away, I can still hear your labored heartbeat.  The bleat of car horns, the shrill cry of workman’s hammers, the screaming drills; this is your sound.  A powerful wind, strong enough to sway mighty foundation of steel and stone is not enough to quiet you.  You are living, breathing life.  There is no question of your power or your providence.

Hong Kong by day…

 

Night falls, and like a fading beauty, you don your sparkling jewels, your brightest gems, to conceal what flaws we see by morning’s cruel light.  No, at night, you are a different creature; mysterious, exotic, sensual, and desirable.  We want you as much as you want us.  This is no coy game we play. You literally light up the night sky for us and we, your adoring admirers, swoon with your flagrant display.  This is a dark mystery you share with us, an initiation, at once both sacred and profane.

The mistress’ jewels

You welcome us with wanton arms, and we, giddy and overwhelmed by your intoxication, rush to embrace you.

Her night-time robe…

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