The wrinkled furrows of her brow said climax has arrived. I saw the thrill of ecstasy behind her tear-filled eyes. “Please leave the windows open to let our spirits fly.” The last words that she said to me before her young flesh died.
We enter the dark. The warm. This sacrament of silence, but for the rhythmic slurping of flesh pressed together in hunger for the other.
Our skins are foreign, unknown to our past, yet pressing now with frantic urgency.
Each lost in the other.
Incense wafts up from our merging. Our noses touch and smell in unison, sharing the same air. The heat, the silky touch, prove too much, but not enough. Ears are ticked by the muffled moans of pleasure, in the floodtides of our coming. We share all, but not...
He’s sure to love the photo that I left upon your wall. It covers up that wedding day with his special little doll. Family photos filled the room each night he was away. He missed the show upon his bed as our bodies pushed and swayed.
You’ve passed that wall a thousand times without a second glance. Your husband’s sure to love this pic of you in sweet romance. Tell him like you said to me, "It was just a brief affair." I’m sure you’ll be forgiven, but you’d better say your prayers.