| He did not need the drink she slid along the bar, or the rest
she hinted at as she spilled seduction through her dress. He did not need the clamour in his mind that he should not, could not, would not �go there� even as he helped her from red lace clinging loosely to the smell of sweet warm brandy. (He needed Hope) She did not need to strip and dance her dying power into his, engage with it and then remove the flimsy barriers that kept them both from the darkside of pure lonely, the kind that rips out hearts and the will to ask for someone who knows Real. (She needed to be Loved) They did not need to bind each other to a dead-dream stake, setting fire to what was left inside after they had pounded every lover�s move into a mockery of touch and sense. (They needed to feel Blessed) |
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| *image: olga sinclair |