The aroma of saffron punctuated the voices of passion that came from the Africans. Fay began to wear the spice beneath her clothes, and it was not lon... before her husband’s driving passion was kindled toward her. “You smell African,” he said.I was still holding the book when she emerged from the showed. “I read your story,” I said. Her skin was warm and damp and clung to the terrycloth white town that covered her torso. “My story?” “She uses saffron and it drives Albert crazy. Saffron, the. . . I dream of her. The moon looks down in sympathy for the love I have and the love I do not possess. I lie down and close my eyes. Sleep comes almost immediately. The great Taurus snorts and paws the night sky, he has no time for love and emotion. Centaur simply nods, the understanding of ageless wisdom. Only the moon watches over me, we are alone she and I. The breeze ruffles my hair and gently kisses my cheek. Of all this I am not aware as in my slumber I dream… I dream of her. The crowing. More

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