Oh my night

The dawn has risen before us.
The palace was gold…gold in its purest, truest form.
Rare gemstones glittered upon the towering pillars that held its walls aloft. Yet for all its grandeur, the palace was warm: comforting and soothing, like a lover’s touch, like the promise of an embrace.
Breakfast was a feast to behold. Bakhoor perfumed the air like a love song, while the fragrance of spices welcomed us home.
Steaming chai was poured into teal ceramic cups, accompanied by pistachios, cloves, and roasted chickpeas…oh, how they melted upon the tongue.
My djinn dusted the Crimson Chambers with marigold powder and gold, adorned my Persian rugs with sumptuous new threads, and redesigned my letters until they opened like treasuries…overflowing with promises, each one stamped with my seal.
Oh, my night.
The chambers possessed nothing less than the grace of Sheba: a sumptuous, jewel-toned
sanctuary drenched in crimson velvet and molten gold. Towering Moorish arches, intricately carved and gilded, rose
between cascades of heavy ruby curtains. Amber lanterns cast their honeyed, flickering glow across the room.

I was held within it all…and, oh, how my body communed with its majesty.
With every turn, every sway, every silken phrase of dance, I yielded to its exaltation.

I came to be.

Here, poetry becomes a lover.
The harp serenades.
The heart awakens to bliss.

Here, stories and myths whispered for a thousand years are reborn as songs…and I, too, surrender to their rituals.

Ah, yes…rituals.

Rituals of beauty and bliss. Of love affairs beneath the full moon. Of dancing, bathing, and soft, unhurried mornings.

Now the dawn has risen, and I must return to my chambers…to dance, to sing, to pluck the strings of my harp, and to return to myself before the rest of the world awakens.