Jodie has finally fallen asleep.
Isis looks at lights moving
over the ceiling. Can hear

the breathing, the in and
out of breath. She can feel
the body just behind hers,

the hand placed on her hip,
the knees drawn up, touching
her back. Jodie and her always

need of ***. The age difference
beginning to show, she becoming
more tired more slow. Even

now she feels a guilt rise in her
like bile, the days back when
Jodie entered her bed for that

first time at the private school,
Jodie’s hands out to reach her,
she a pupil, Isis a first time teacher.

Jodie moves in her sleep, her
hand slips from the hip, rests
on the sheet. Isis watches the

patterns of light on the ceiling play.
Years ago all that. None knew,
none found out. The shared bed,

much against her conscience,
but her conscience lost, the love
and lust set in. Isis reflects, the

lights play on, the patterns move.  
Each part of her touched, kissed,
Held, licked and ******. Well and

truly loved, well and truly ******.  
Back then the tense fear and need
on both sides, the excitement

of the deeds done, fear of exposure,
the secret meetings, the passing
over of messages in corridors, quick

kisses in doorways, in those days.
Isis lies on her back, hands on her
breast, eyes watching the patterns

dance on the ceiling’s screen. Just
once more, Jodie had said, wanting
*** and kisses as before. Now all

done and time for rest, all thoughts
pushed away, closes her eyelids
like shutters on another full day.