His eyes burn in the dark.

Tears forsake him still.

It has been so long since he lost that simple comfort.

He does not notice the cold of the night that enshrouds him.

His thoughts are on her.

Her image fills his head.

He sees her phantom dancing, smiling, laughing.

She beckons him to join her; he declines.

He prefers to watch her dance.

Her bare feet in the grass.

She twirls.

A glimpse of a pale knee beneath the folds of her dress.

He inhales slowly.

The flow of her gauzy skirt over the swell of her hips and slight waist.

She laughs.

The curve of her arms in the moonlight.

He holds his breath.

The milky skin of her breast and collarbone.

She tilts her head.

The freckle on her neck.

He rises.

The ringlets cascading down her back.

She reaches for him.

The warmth of her body.

He can no longer hold back.

Her surrender in his arms.

She closes her eyes.

And she is gone.

He sits, alone with his sin.




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