An Empty Chair
He has a presence.
It leaves a shadow on the empty chair.
Shimmering.
A fleeting memory sees him sitting there.
Tall and broad, you see him stand, strong back above wide hips.
Sleek.
Two hundred pounds stretched smooth over six feet of bone.
Your eyes are drawn to his face.
Wavy grey hair, wild and tame, sculpts softly along scalp and brow.
His mouth curved in a smile foreshadows sensuality.
Rows of ivory teeth glimmer.
Electric.
The whites of his eyes circle dark, cold pupils.
His glance penetrates your core, knowing you want to dance with death.
Fascinated by my fascination, I flounder seeking the proper social graces.
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