First, one’s mind catered to the other.
Then they started praying upon each other’s art: one’s imagination crawling on and playing with the other’s like two lion cubs frolicking on Africa’s grasslands.
By the time physical love came into play, they were already burning like two pieces of glass in a Murano furnace.
In the end, a lonely man found a mound of shattered glass on a back alley.
It would have been much easier if they would have kept their art separate.
Yet they didn’t.
Excerpt from the manuscript Passion: Love Poems and Other Writings
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)
image: Sandratsky Dmitriy; Shutterstock; [link]