His scarred finger Gingerly drags the lace. A blunt nail raises a pink line On her perfect breast, Pointing, to her dark nipple - Where his gaze now lingers. His weathered, chapped lips Gently press the warm bud. Tired eyes half close - A lonely mind remembers Moments savoured, During years of marital bliss. He remains this way - Breathing and remembering, Caressing the memories. Holding every precious moment Of time spent, before she'd died - While the escorts' slender hand Reaches for the money, On the bedside table.
Poetry is my aeroplane 