The New Man.



Her hand slid slowly down his spine
fingertips tingling, powerful threads binding them together.
She could almost see the juicy, beating heart
inside of his leathery skin.

His story was a sad one; she guessed; he looked
tattered around the edges.

She decided to trust him, to believe that he could teach her secrets
about herself.

So she opened him, and read.

Sandra Hurst ~2017