Erotic play discloses a nameless world which is revealed by the nocturnal language of lovers. Such language is not written down. It is whispered into the ear at night in a hoarse voice. At dawn it is forgotten.
A kiss is a secret which takes the lips for the ear.
Secrets die when kept or revealed. They live by being faintly and uncertainly repeated.
Gossip, even when it avoids the sexual, bears around it a faint flavor of the erotic.
Thus, sped by currents of curiosity afloat the swift river of rumor do secrets sail to strange ports.
A secret spoken finds wings.
Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear; Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.
Rumour is information distilled so finely that it can filter through anything. It does not need doors and windows -- sometimes it does not need people. It can exist free and wild, running from ear to ear without ever touching lips.
