Exotic is a word br that rings br inside my ears br like violins. br Sounds of great beauty br rising up with grace br into the evening sky. br The Maistro hesitates br then turns br and climbs the stairs br into the spire br where Martin Luther wrote, br and thought, br where one late night br the Devil knocked br to cast false dice, br exotic was the walk br alone, br Canossa, it was his. br The world is filled br with things, br exquisite hues br and crystals of br fine angel tears. br But YOU, my LOVE, br you are so far beyond br that there can never be br a word for you, br none would suffice br and that is why I write, br I offer you my soul, br it is a simple one br and claims no great noblesse, br perhaps you'd let me br shower you br with ordinary ones, br those kisses br that transfixed the time br obscurely br like the flower br by that happy name.