Paramour

Paramour

Not the second hand throw you wish to know but the sultry second of a tattered heart.
Keeping the distance after a storm has passed, but the yearning is beckoned by the faint glimpses of what was there.

How something so easy comes with the cost of tears. These things take time to fade into the background but seem to surface in the twilight.

Pleasure and pain tend to cut so smoothly down into the flesh, plucking the heart gently until the beating forgets to restart.

No more second to be had when the second lies beneath that cold northern sand.

Reviews

[Ballpark Frank]

I think I get it. Well written and beautifully poetic.