I twirl the strap of my lacy red lingerie around my wrist,
It’s twin, I wrap around the capri of my man.
“Let this be the red string of fate…”
… that link two destined lovers.
The ineluctable heed no time, place nor circumstance;
It’s robusity conquers rain, shine, and ghastly storms.
Tattered but not torn,
Worn yet intact,
Knotted yet unbroken.
But is fate not a construct of human ingenuity?
A figment of desire, rationalisation of passion?
Still, fate is so apparent, so palpable, so definite.
I don my “string”.
And brush my lips along his broad, broad shoulders.
Fate, so. Tangible.
P.S: Choice of apparatus due lack of a physical red string
P.P.S: Events took place with the subject of my affection “on the throne”
P.P.P.S: Happy birthday, baby *insert heart emoji*