XVI. every thought the music I write, everything a wish for the night
He moves, catlike, across the stage, singing to her words of passion, and though they are scripted words he means every one with all his soul. It is glorious for him to hear her singing such things back to him. He cannot tell if they are meant sincerely as are his, but that is inconsequential. There are ways of knowing.
He approaches her, touches her bare shoulder, pulls her gently to his chest where she leans in rapture. Her breathing is rapid, her lips are parted – he wants her terribly. When she presses in closer to him, he smiles. Yes, she will be his. She will hear him forever.
