Time is ever so unkind

Dearest you, They were once real. Full of vivre et lustful zeal. 
Their wavering sights and fancy nights avec bliss ‘till afternoon tea with a Mrs that belonged not to thee. Tell me you were there, hands on with affair, was she as beauty as her hair?
Did you care, did you fear?

Did you stand too close to hear them giggle Everywhere?

“Silly you, it’s a painting, just a painting my dear.”

 

bonsoir,

RS