The Inner Minx

"Yoo hoo, gorgeous!" said Mr Zebediah Bullshittin "Four for a pound."
Mrs Minxalot pulled her hat further down to cover her perplexed countenance. Mr Bullshittin and his foreign coconuts were probably not to be trusted on such a morning and she clutched her list to her bosom and hurried on to the inner sanctum of the febrile...

First,
hair that clouded any thought, the
skin that met upon this bed,

You say you love me. Can you know what love is for one so young? Can you possibly know what wars will be waged in the name of this love in the years to come. A battle where neither of us knows if there should be a winner or a loser?
Should you think about this first, before you let those words pass your lips?...

The febrile dream was a constant.
She woke with the remains of a half-remembered passion sitting among the beads of sweat that adorned her top lip.
Pushing aside the damp sheets she found the bathroom mirror that told a story that was only half true.