She wanders through the garden, stopping from time to time to press her nose into a fragrant rose. He loved this time of year, he thrived in the fresh cool spring season. Oh, how she misses him, and those days and nights spent in this very garden. Her most precious memories are those of summer, and balmy afternoons spent beneath the willow tree, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Closing her eyes, she can almost feel him even now, caressing her sweat glistened skin. The smell of lavender dancing on the air reminds her of his rough hands as he toyed with her desires. She became whatever he wanted her to be, a wanton nymph who would fill his every need.
They needed no one else, for theirs was a love that grew more potent with each glance and every touch over the years.
He’s gone; she lives for only her fading remembrances. But sometimes in the heat of a summer day, she hears his voice whispering to her in the stifling breeze, Come to me.
And even though she is old and bent, her blood stirs at the thought of him. Soon, my darling, soon.
©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg
Author’s Note: Inspired by my poem, Under The Willow
Written for Magaly’s Telling Tales at Poet’s United