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R. J. Frogvarian

“The revel, the revel!” the crier cried. All around wine and spirits flowed. “Join the jolly jesters!”

High echelons and low gutters do not mix so well. The upright worker looks down upon the displeased lady. Who’s in the wrong? It is any one’s judgement to say? The intricacies of a bond are not up to an onlooker to decide or decipher. Fueled by the intoxicating brew the pair sit arm in arm, an arm’s length apart. What blessed togetherness.

The two leave together. The bark seems worse than the bite. Through the darkened streets there is only silence. Neither is eager to admit a wrongdoing. As the silence grows unbearable, their humble abode makes its appearance. Glances are exchanged and words forgotten. Actions speak louder, after all.

Such sweet actions they are, under the sheets and around the limbs. The two are now one, as poets oft like to remind us. They diverge with bliss. Two again, in each others’ arms. Silent words are exchanged only now, at last ready to break free what was unwanted back then.

Though this might be only in the onlooker’s mind.
There is hope for happiness.
One would rather disappear than have to face the reality of living.

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