THE COMEDIAN AND HIS MUSE (continued)<br/><br/>I think Irving Berlin (and a lot of other composers) must have been like my personal Nostradamus, because tonight my mind keeps coming up with their lyrics on how I feel.  "Heaven, I'm in heaven, And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak...."   And this is how I feel before the elevator stops and the door opens.  If it hadn't been an elevator, and don't get me wrong because I love passionate embraces in elevators and until now it's been way to long since the last time, with the possibility that someone could call the car down or up to another floor, I could have let reality melt away and be there with Thalia there until I don't know when.<br/><br/>She tells me that I'm 'quite a kisser'.  "Oh, good," I answer breathily, "I wasn't sure my lips remembered how."<br/><br/>But Thalia, strongly yet gently, moves in a way where I have to release her and I don't resist, much, because I'm so enraptured by the scent of her so close to me.  Her legs relax and release my waist.  I set her down.  We step out of the elevator and Thalia welcomes me into her home.<br/><br/>It's hard for me to put into words, my senses are conflicted.  It looks lush and green and endlessly open with accents of stone and water, yet it feels cozy.  Maybe it's because this place<i>feels</i>like her?  Warm.  Playful.  Beautiful.  I breathe in deeply and it's the smell of her perfume, or is it her?<br/><br/>I ache to have her in my arms again.