At the water’s edge they dance their courtship – up and down – around. When one comes to rest on a swaying reed, I look closely at its delicate black wings. They remind me of my stocking tops – the ones I thought would win in our dance of courtship – suspenders and suspense – the tease and slow removal; until all that remained was removal – yours. Turned out there was more to love, than lingerie and fireside sex.


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