Shortcut

Every path but your own is the path of fate. Keep on your own track, then. - Thoreau

We weighed anchors.

Like a couple of dishonest bankers.

Heart threads unraveling with torn love.

To infinity and back.

Loyalty an afterthought.

A black orchid grew between the cracks.

Fertilized with life's thick skin.

Champagne glasses clinked together.

Toasting yet another way.

Passion's fingers caressing all that we say.

Sign says stop but we don't want to.

We need to make it to the church pew.

Funny how romance goes and grows.

Wondering who's pulling the strings in this puppet show.

We made it over that last rut.

Detour turned out to be just a ...

... shortcut ...