Greetings, my beautiful Hong Kong! I can't help but write to you. I can't stop gazing at your light show, pulsing, alive with your vitality, your sensuousness.  The raucous, intense symphony of your harbour traffic distracts me, zigzagging, scurrying and dashing over mysterious dark waters. Your vertical posture, imperious and elegant, leaves me gaping, swooning.  Laser light tiaras that sparkle on your brow draw my eye away from the rise and fall of traffic in your bosom, cars swarming as blood rushes to a flushed face. I am rendered speechless by the way you move ‘neath clothing of concrete and steel, glass and stone, green and blue. What am I to do, caught in your aura, straining to be free from this web of delights, and yet ecstatic to be snared? Ah, Hong Kong, your lovers will never be swayed from your side, or you from them.  I fear I can only hope for a dalliance, a kiss of light, a moment of finger-twining rush. You will always have a spot in my heart. Sweet dreams, City of Lights.

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