Stolen kiss

There was nothing tentative about that kiss, the overture to stolen passion. The intensity was reciprocal, the power was consuming, the finale was inescapable. It was as if each of the performers wished to devour the other. The ingredients for this potpourri were a cup each of biology, opportunity and lack of fulfilment... and the passion runneth over.

The mutuality of attraction, the timing and the finality of the first act made repetition inevitable. But this was no work of genius, it was a prelude to lives upturned, love’s destruction and crushing disharmony.

And all it took was a kiss.