I have nothing to show you. You are already so cultivated and instinctually clear and unclosed. We share everything. Over dinner I want to share an idea with you―maybe think about a move to Marrakesh.
Fez is too traditional and not for us. Rabat is becoming home, though―it’s a big city for Morocco and we do love being close to the beach. Maybe I’ll wait. You will say without saying and I’ll know when to bring up Marrakesh.
Instead, I ask you if you want to hire car and go to Meknes tomorrow. There we can tour the ancient ruins of a distant Roman outpost. I want us to see the place where Romans built mansions with shrewdly planned courtyard fountains that were used to reflect the sun so the rooms inside would gleam with dancing light. So much like your eyes when you look at me.
Right now, I can’t stop looking at you, sitting across the table enjoying your wine. Something so fluid and yet unchanged about you. So mercurial and staid about me, for that matter. Morocco sets our senses ablaze.
You’ve adapted so unselfishly to dressing in a modest way. Lots of Moroccan girls wear western clothes―skinny jeans and form-fitting tops. But I know that a redhead from the US in the Medina wearing a spaghetti strap tank top is going to get spat on and told to go home. I’m not going to react favorably to that.
The fact is, you look so seductive and alluring and when it’s hot, your new flowing clothes keep you cool. Is that sandalwood? And the way you dress . . . I want to corner you . . . I’m trying to focus on my tangine. The way the fabric on your blouse shows you off. Tangine!
You smile at me. Those eyes! They dance and tease and love and yearn all at the same time.-PK
I dress modestly out of respect for you and our new home. I want to immerse myself into the culture, not punctuate it. I want to impress you silently and make you proud at every turn. I want you, and only you, to know I have no other garments on underneath the flowing clothes you can see. The feeling of linen and smell of spices now makes us feel at home more than ever.
I have started dreaming of Marrakesh, and I know you’ve been secretly thinking of the right time to take me there. We’ve talked about it for years, and since arriving in Morocco, it’s been calling to us like the nightly sunsets we try so hard to catch each time.
Making love day and night makes it difficult to keep any sort of schedule―and we wouldn’t have it any other way. Too often, we realize how much we actually have to concentrate to transport ourselves back to the world we came from. Back to the US and schedules and pressure and stress. We’ve almost forgotten what any of those things feel like.-KB