Do you remember

Just a few hours with her.

That morning during a winters rain.  Cold air licking our skin through cracks in the old windows. Covers no longer shaped to the bed, instead wrapped and bound to our bodies.  Our skin touching with a warm indescribable comfort. The rich and wood like smell of our passion held the space around us.

An overcast sky gave no shadows to this room, only soft transitions of light and dark. One bed, one chair and a stack of well worn books preceded us. A white shirt lay unbuttoned and hanging over the back of the chair.  Cuffs still rolled with crisp folds giving shape where a body once was. Broken leather shoes lay abandoned and tumbled at the doorway.  The sound of rain tapped lightly at the roof above ... all else was quiet. 

Time would stop for us.  No hunger or thirst could move us from this place.  

Your eyes laid half closed and your body relaxed.  The curves of your neck fell perfectly into your shoulders.  I could not find a place on your body I did not want to touch or explore. Our hands lay one on top of the other.  Your’s soft and pale laid upon the sheets as if to echo them in form.  Mine over yours sat there dark from the sun and fingers slightly crooked from injury. It was every bit of who we were. 

We gave into each other over and over wanting to breath the air the other expelled. Wanting to be closer than touch would allow. Slowing down to see the scale of our connections. Tasting our differences. Making pathways in our minds that could not be erased.  We had our own gravity.