Intemperately Adored, a Requiem of Sorts

Intemperately Adored, a Requiem of Sorts

Most men know her at least once.  One would think that once would be enough but all too often, once is too much.  Introspection among her victims generally goes something like this:

Still beautiful he assumes.  Although perhaps she’s short of exquisite in voice, manner and expression, in persuasion she’s peerless, much to his dismay.

Her clever words, interspersed with gestures and innuendos cloud conclusions rarely conveying the meanings received, but then, that’s their intent.

She enjoys whispering to the images in her mirror “the fault’s not mine” and enjoys even more knowing that he understood just what she hoped.

A marionette dancing to his puppeteer’s whims, he seeks desperately to neither see nor understand, though the truth, in the end, is much too clear.

Reflection then generally concludes something like this:  “But then again, once is once too often, again and again and again.  And then again, one more time, almost admiringly, he concludes:

Lying wordlessly, who would have thought it was an art form.



© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2016; all rights reserved


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