In the dawn of the morning she dresses hurriedly
Her paramour still snores unaware that flight is imminent
She fixes her hair and straightens her clothes
Ironing out the creases.
The ecstasy of the previous night forgotten
She is off, her other needs beckon
Food to fill her tummy, his cupboards are bare
And her perfume lingers…
By Joszann St.John
Woundedbirdnomore 