Six Sentence Sunday


They gazed into each other eyes as lovers often do,
chatted in low tones while I watched heartbroken in a daze.  I gawked at the natural way in which Ricardo
coiled his fingers with hers and the effortless sensual flow of them.
Absentminded, they rubbed knees while ogling at the menu, as though second
nature. I remember we were natural. A soft moan escaped me at the ease of them,
how open and loving. I wished he was still mine, wished the hand of time could
turn back so we could forgo the incident.



There is creative reading as well as creative writing.

Ralph Waldo Emerson





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