I believed there would be a final chapter.
A last blaze of glory.
Her body eloquent in its submission. Her large, almond-shaped eyes wide with fear and desire. Her red lipstick smudged beneath my fingers.
Her nerves dancing beneath my touch.
Her long dark hair spread like a wild storm upon sacrificial white sheets. Her nakedness pure and fresh, captured in leather. And in bold, secure knots.
But in this heavy, echoing, empty silence I am no longer certain.
Perhaps the final page has already been written.
The ink has dried.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photograph : a gift from long ago.