The Affair ( as I sit at my desk, and conjure up a story)

She is the one with pearls jeweled down her neck, strung around the heat of her bare skin. She is just past her point of pleasure; he is just past his code of honesty, as her pearls begin to drop to the floorboards, one by one. Nothing harms the old parchment of a love affair, faster than the moisture of morning's light. The sun rises, and he is gone, pearls roll everywhere along the floor, the chord of her necklace dangles, caught up in the tangle of the bed sheets. When the apartment door closes, she gasps, as if a last gasp from a dying creature. Sometimes, that's how she grieved every time he left her bed in the morning. Often, it was the only way open to her, as she would watch him slip his wedding band back over his finger. It never needed to be broken down any further than that, to be completely processed by her. She knew who she was, who he was, in this game of treachery. As worldly traveled as she was, it had been him that she wanted. It was him, which she could never have, seduced by the tune of his fingers, as he dipped them in champagne and sprinkled his passion like Holy Water over her. A curse indeed, as each time she slipped a little more inside of him, his wedding band sitting on her nightstand...in the morning it was always gone, and so was he. A moment of purest perception, as she lets forgiveness trespass through the inside of her mortality. She watches from the window, as he crosses to the train, as she reclaims herself, a place he now vacates. Her lace, demure, yet promiscuous, leaving doors wide open, and bridges unburned grasping hands under the wrath of his passion. He, just another unexpected detour in her life,like so many others, so many forgotten faces...