Richard Marcano (Rickytone)..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Soft cotton clothes lightly fall on the jagged hard gravel streets of lust.

False passionate words whispered in arousing tones create a faux sense of comfort.

Hands hold and caress with slow careful strokes.

Eyes meet for a second and quickly look away.

Bodies intertwined sharing warmth, sweat, and feelings.

Moments of pleasure accumulating to a climatic eruption of bliss.

Loneliness.

Empty voids.

Indifference.

Who are you? You are not her.

I am not him. We are not we.

Coldness alerts me of our reality.

Too broken to love too desperate to leave.

Two past loves that haunt and persecute every ounce of our guilty fucking sex.