A wicked crack creak crept through a weathered open door by the shoes she left on the living room floor. A vanilla candle, fashioned on the marble kitchen table, flickered a fragrance that of her pale nude body, screaming follow me. The whisper of a dream I dreamed while she was in the backseat of another lover’s car, tiptoeing in my head, leaving the bed, and what was to be of us better left unsaid, if only until we’re dead. A woman, that of another lover, is beside me. We go through the motions of love, but it’s pure lust.
(© 2021 AC)