He loves her.

He has loved her since they met.

They share a life.

Friends, family, and of course, their children.

He buried his sybaritic side the day he said, “I Do.”

He knew what that meant, and he was okay with it.



The deep, hedonistic hunger has woken from a long sleep.

The ropes with which he wove his tapestry,

looping and tightening and knotting,

sleep in a box, under many other boxes, on a shelf in the garage.

He couldn’t part with them.

The silver wings that clutched rosebud nipples,

eliciting gasps of pain and moans of aching pleasure,

rest in black velvet, in a sock, in the box.

An innocent ice-cube stares up at him,

sharing the secret,

how, melting, it would traverse the wondrous world,

up – down – across – under – over.

Now, in sleep, her euphoric cries echo through his dreams.

The deep, lustful hunger has woken from a long sleep.

A dark angel has crossed his path.

Her eyes sparkle with the need,

her craving clear in every look, every smile, every comment.

She knows, he knows.

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They know each other.





Written after seeing an old friend today, who is living this.