DiscothequeDark Imagination

2003, Marrakech: Theatro The air was thick with heat that lingered long after the sun went down. The club felt like soft leather and sweat in a haze of sweet patchouli. A kaleidoscope of dancers swirled from ribbons that dangled from the mezzanine. In a desert filled with blooming roses, there was one pulsing beat. A seduction, like quicksand. A labyrinth of mind games. A masked figure who beckoned with easy smoke rings, and lashes. Whose lips tasted of black plum, whose skin felt like fire. It was maybe love, maybe madness. Maybe a hazy figment of a dark imagination. They were against a black wall, or red. A waking dream, or maybe dreaming in hopes that they’re awake.