The Innocent Voyeur by C.J. Heck An old man glances through his window to one in the building below. Through slats awry in seduction's haste, candlelight strobes on sweat-glistened bodies. He watches, transfixed, at the images through the blinds, eyes too frozen to obey. (Turn your head! Go to bed!). Two bodies loving, unaware of the innocent intrusion. He watches, aroused, passion rising in two rooms now. A goddess bent over a sofa, Adonis behind in the flickering light. A conqueror, a conquest. Memories of his own youth rekindle and burn and the old man cries. Bittersweet images viewed through the blinds and he cries ...
Poet/Writer/Author of 5 books.
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And he cries… rattling last breaths. And the flowers bloom like madness in the spring. Somehow this reminds me of the song Aqualung by Jethro Tull. The old man is not a pervert. He is only looking for a feeling. A revealing. Thank you for the gift of your words. And the fire of the images. 🙏❤️
Oh! Heart breaking 💔