Not Another Moment Longer
An acrid aroma drifted into the foyer becoming stagnate
around the turn into the house's large, nearly vacant
living room. He was grilling steak, knowing she rarely
indulges in red meat. His passive-aggressive behavior
has become the bane of her existence and his tepid
denials she once found amusing are now sad and wasteful.
Margaret's eyes teared, as much from the smoke
as from a memory that tugged at her mind: Nicholas,
Making love to her on the floor of a tiny flat in Paris
cluttered with art, books and bottles of wine. His mouth
enveloping her collarbone, his hands beneath her legs
and then his lips pressed to her ear, the words he spoke
went down into her soul, a cotton candy cloud filling
her up with a sweetness only her husband could bring...
Today is their anniversary, yes he remembered
he tried to blot out the memory of young love with
the clouds of acrid smoke, but it didn't work.
He turned off the grill and threw the steaks over
the fence to the delight of the neighbor's dog.
As Nicholas walked back to the house he began to
remove his shirt and then his belt. Passing the
sink he splashed himself with water until his
face and torso were dripping wet as if he had been
baptizd in some old Burt Lancaster movie.
No more tepid tip-toeing around his wife. He
knocked over a glass on his was to the living
room, the sound thrilled him for some reason,
belling in his ears; an unexpected joy.
As he came upon her he whispered Margaret
and he covered her body with his, his mouth
took hold of hers. He felt her heart flutter,
or was it his?