There are times when I appear to descend through serpentine passages in deep wells towards dungeons where lost love lies, frozen, crystalized; seemingly immobile and immotive.
Passing through fields of vertigo-punctuated screams, for a brief instant I’m kissed by the shadow of phantom heat, fragrant and thick, and as sultry as honey. It seems to scent the air there, perhaps the shades of once might have beens that never were.
My calcified heart, hushed and seemingly frozen to sentiment, starts to stir then, tries to spread tendrils of memory in the direction of somnolent remembrances but is quickly stilled by a cold steel will comprised in equal parts of reminiscence and ephemeral instants of confusion and despair.
A place ruled by ambivalent goddesses, or perhaps more accurately, goddesses of the ambivalent. I wake then wondering why again, I find myself ensorcelled there.
© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2014; all rights reserved