Clothes so clean when you dressed and departed, concealing what your morning had started.
This day was hazy. Pushing bits of paper, moving pens through light. Coffees, a break for lunch and six hundred words later, the day's end in sight.
The evening began with smiles, food and romancing, most mostly sweet red wine and significantly dancing. Unknown eyes so tempting, depth and quenching, her lips pouting, enticing and fresh. You needed her, felt her, tasted her, desired her fullness to the flesh. Who would guess roses can bite, thorns protecting what's theirs by right? From the ashes of disaster, sensual, sublime, desirably undisputed delight. Petals rejected, thrashed across your face, for your lies, you've been rumbled and put in your place.
Others left early but oh no not you, as ever to see it through, last to leave quite undecidedly, head in distress, stomach heaving in full view. Roads empty, pavements free, missing friends you wanted to see, too late, alone at night, time to race home ahead of day's light. Trip over the door, stumble about the quarry slated floor, collide with your furniture, now strewn and unsure. Hand over wild scented roses, earlier so rejected in disgrace, now accepted without question and in the very best of good faith.
Tell your wife how you love her, your new born to be, say you're sorry work kept you, see what you see...
Copyright Ⓒ 2012 Christopher Patrick Kirk all rights reserved
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