the night is red,
I taste water in this room.
My hands are strong, but they tremble
with the crackle and the glow of electricity.
There's more than water here.
I smell sandalwood burning, and paint,
and I smell your sweat mingled with Karma.
Something from the stereo pulses with
Eastern sex and secrets from the deepest space.
Something from the speakers under the bed
invites me to stay and watch.
I want to witness the Process.
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