The devil dances here in the nights heat; the withered man who feels that he is still a boy, accepts defeat and comes to understand that whatever evolves never remains ordered and neat. She was quick, sly, could spot the perfect moment, speak quick and turn his mouth dry; an orphic demon, she dances here in the nights heat, seduction eliciting fear-- his slight tremble followed by her demure chuckle. Shaken and untangled, his frame of mind remained mangled but at peace; she was kind but candid, but he never liked the timid ones anyway-- those are the women who had nothing of value to say. They clung to fraudulent innocence-- but she danced, hungry and wild, here in the nights heat, a devil controlling the fire letting the flames burn and inspire, unveiling desire that he could no longer keep hidden during his morbid retroversion... And so her steps serve to guide his despaired exodus from morbid eden to the drunken depths of hell-- satans night sky was cremated, cold, but dazzling, surreal in violence and so golden. Sin had never before been so blissful, oddly complete and without consequence till she, my Byzantine devil, danced savagely in its unrighteous heat.