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Springtime
Visits
By
Phyllis Link
It was springtime. Yes, I
remember. I had misplaced that memory for just a second but it was
definitely a spring day - much like today, in fact.
My goodness, has it really
been six years now since you first presented me with that perfect
solitary rose, its petals soft and bright and freshly watered by
your tears? Those petals have long since dried and crumbled, yet
it seems like a moment ago.
You are a sweet, dear man
standing before me now with a glorious bundle of irises, my very
favorite of all blooms. I envy their stems being held by your
large, firm hands. I remember so well having those long fingers
splayed against the small of my back holding me closely to you,
sweeping me across the dance floor. For such a large-bodied man
you move so smoothly. It is with true mastery that you quicken and
slow with the flow of the music. Yes, you are a gentle, gentle man
but most assuredly aggressive in all matters in which a woman
craves such action.
Your heart is so perfectly
matched to the great size of your body. I think it is what brings
grace to your movements. That time I heard the leaden step of your
walk I feared I was the cause. I knew I was the cause. Your lively
gait is back now and its sound lifts my spirit. It is your wife
that gifted you with that, no doubt. Yes, I know about her as she
does me. Loving two women has troubled you, hasn't it? Don't fret,
my dear. You will see, there is plenty of room to love everyone.
She knows that you visit me,
even that you bring me flowers. She would never ask for nor expect
less from you, though. It is a part of the man she adores. The man
we adore.
I have received your kisses,
plentiful enough. Now, go, my love, and enjoy yourself and your
wife. Do not worry about me nor hasten to be with me. Eternity
spreads before my feet, leaving me time enough to wait for your
next visit.
Thank you for the flowers.
They look so warm against the cold stone.
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PHYLLIS LINK lives, loves and learns in Western Pennsylvania. Her dreams transcend the stars, but sometime the sparkling light blinds her. Writing helps to transport her past those stars.
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