He’s been devouring her
for years now – sometimes
but more often
like end-of-movie popcorn.
He never could say no to butter.
And when everyone else trades
artificial night for afternoon glare,
he sits motionless through the credits,
anchoring her with intertwined fingers,
hoping she still believes all they need
is a story in the dark.
yvonne melania lieblein
Poetry fix recieved …. Love