The Cliff

I can recall
The hearty laugh
The bawdy shriek
Your lusty chuckle
Why can’t I hear you anymore?

I’d know that scent in a heartbeat
Sometimes I catch it
Even now
When I sort our clothes
Or close a book
An old book
One you loved

The touch
I miss your touch the most
Your fingertips
Your hair
Your skin
Stubble against my silk
And then the rolling, heaving, grasping reach
As we made love

You chose
Not me, not after all the years
You chose…
I must not have been enough
You chose
The end of the road
But it was I
I and the others
Who paid your toll

Sundays the church bells call
But I can’t return
Instead I stand
At cliff’s edge
Trying to make sense of the senseless
To find meaning
Any meaning at all

So far
I return
I have children to raise
This week
I can’t promise the next


This is dedicated to someone close who chose the end of the road – long ago.

I’ve been absolutely focused on a book revise/rewrite cycle, to the point I was effectively off the grid for the last two months. Not to mention family, day job, and medical issues. But I’m back!

This is part of Ruby Kiddell’s Wank Wednesday Erotic Notebook project. See the other entries here

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2 Responses to The Cliff

  1. God that’s awfully sad…

  2. Thank you for your comment.

    Yes, when someone chooses that way out it is most sad, not for the one who left, but for those they leave behind.

    Please stop by again. You’re always welcome

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