By Paula R C Readman
vodka on the rocks
He turned away from studying her painting that hung upon the wall in the expensive gallery. “Your work,” he said, taking her face within his hands, his lips a breath apart from hers. “Is a heart racing picture of the mind, a shadowy ship that sails through the night, when love’s lingering touch caresses bare skin, and leaves footprints upon the soul like in wet sand.”
She stepped away from him, threw her head back and laughed, her hair cascading like a peat-filled stream after a heavy summer downpour around her shoulders. “Oh Peter, it’s over, your silky words don’t wash with me.”
“You my darling dream, my eternal flame, are tearing my world apart.”
“Such sweetness in your words brings many lovers to your bed, Peter, but I can see through your lies.”
“Okay,” he said, defeated, letting his hands dropped to his side as he turned back to the painting showing a ship, with full sails crashing against the rocks, and a lone figure on a shoreline. “At least, my love for you wasn’t wasted as it has given you fuel for your paintings, Connie.