Portrait of a Broken Heart
Slinking past the foreboding door, I venture to the pool house to meet my secret lover.
Pain and longing surface once more for a distant husband’s affections that care little for holding a wife’s attention.
Slipping in, breath catching, eyes skip over the expectant length waiting in anticipation.
Palming up the familiar with urgent hands, I lustfully dip the tip, gliding it over the overworked surface, heat building within.
Time slips into the starless night sky.
A nameless force rides me hard as liquid drips from my mad fingertips.
Stepping back, the portrait of a crestfallen woman gazes back.
Tossed with sleep and dreams too hot to bear, I exasperatedly throw back the covers.
Dark eyes and devilish good looks plague me. One day, endeavors to ride the man-whore of a bartender from the local bar until the birds sing will be had.
Splashing cold water on my face, I head back to bed only to realize that my dreams may not be so hypothetical.
Peering over the bunched sheets in anticipation, the glare of a balding head stares back.
Damn the drink that has landed the bar-fly accountant in my duvet whilst making me think it was another.