You prepare a bed on the drowsy veranda and carry me to it, like a bundle of sticks. With meticulous tenderness you settle my wasted limbs. But I sense you feel something missing from our love, now there’s no longer any cause for jealousy.
I was beautiful, wasn’t I? Admirers threw flowers onto the stage, and you burned in a rage of uncertainty. The doubt bound you to me. Can you cope with tranquillity? Will you stay with me to the end?
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on character, desire, and suspense here