"When the witching hour strikes, do the absurd notions take seed."
Cocooned under the safety of blankets and basked in the sweet scent of sweat, conscience submits itself to the wonderful yet agonizingly painful world of 'what-if's' and 'however's'...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I cast a weary glance at The figure beside me as They lay in repose.
A swarm of bees surged in my chest And ceased just as quickly, As soon as I took a good look at their visage.
Surely, that couldn't be - No, my eyes must be full of deceit - My playmate from the golden years?
I dabbled my eyes with the ends of my kerchief And to my dismay (or was it relief?) It was simply my partner, innocently snoozing away.
She certainly knew how to achieve new lows; I remarked to myself in spite, Nauseated yet unsurprised at the same time.
I dropped on the bed and Chose to do away with gazing Fondly at them, as was the norm.
The norm, of holding them close to my bosom; The norm, of being content with just a diet-starved look at them; The norm; of kindling the everlasting fire of passion.
And how was I supposed to do that, When we did away with the coals So early on in our relationship?
