A Fatal Gift.

Pummeled, burnt and torn, he turned inward; remembering her warmth.

How the heat of her had burned through the silk like the devil’s tongue as she'd wrapped her legs around his waist.

His gift, precious stockings of silk designed to save a life now forfeit. He had no regrets. It had been no time to remain a virgin. To not be in love. 

He slipped back within her arms. His parachute above, its silk shredding, soon to become a shroud.

Below him fell his other mistress, his Spitfire. 

Torn apart as if in a jealous rage, leading the way to eternity.