Thirty-Seven

I was at the seaside. The water took the form of a woman, just like me. She approached, smiling. We held hands, staring into each other. And she fell back into the sea.

Then came the Siberian man, wearing a mantle decorated with translucent-golden bee wings.

“But aren’t bees feminine?” – I asked him.
He smiled and stroked my face gently.
“Isn’t it what consciousness is? A man initiated into the feminine mysteries?”

He started off at some speed, walking by the coastline, and I decided to follow him.

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