In a deep pink evening, he watched me dancing in the rain with his dark eyes. My breast shown through my dress I wore clinging as water ran down my face and thighs and I liked that he was watching me.
The night was soft and anything was possible. Sliding my fingers down the side of my face, I tapped against my top lip slowly. His eyes fixed on my hips, insouciant in the evenings glow.
It takes a careful, patient, searching eye to see the subtlety of my quietly smoldering passion. I smiled and he followed me. He carried me over the threshold through the hallway and lay me down on our bed where we first lay together thirty years ago.