With bold strokes, Takashi painted his haiku, the perfection of the letters only marred by the tears that had finally begun to fall from his eyes. The... were not tears of sadness at the loss of his beloved. They were tears of shame, at his failure to protect her. He never thought she'd need protection from those she loved, and who loved her.With the poem written, he peeled his kimono off his shoulders. Somo placed Takashi's katana on the floor mat between his master and the body of his master's. Otherwise I would have verbally pounded on the driver. I was so high-strung already, and my heart rate was going about 120, so you can just imagine.I took off my sweater as the cab arrived at the hotel driveway. The weather was unusually chilly for a late February evening in Manila, and the night air embraced my legs and bare shoulders and hardened my nipples, as I walked to the front door, further amplifying my feelings of anticipation.He was already waiting in the hotel lobby, watching the. More

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