It's 2 am and we are sitting around the same subject, flying over our thoughts as pirates, ravaging each other's words. Conversation is the only pray for the loyal partners. You can keep it in your mouth for much longer than you could even think, and nobody would even dare distract you.
Laura sat at the end of the couch, her right hand holding the penultimate cigarette in her pack, her face clouded by the rising heat from her skin's breath. She looked directly in the eyes, as if she studied any single detail in yours. Her arms are bare, and so is her back on the fresh curtain of the night.
She pours herself another drink, carefully choosing the space between the ice in her glass. She stares at the yellowness breaking into the dark surfaces of the cubes and lets it rest inside them. She needs to swallow more of this moment, but she waits until the brain stops locking up her motions. The real deal is in the fiber of her organs, in the deepness of her soul asking for some more venom to her morning dwellings in solitude.
We listen to them, they seem to be talking but the mouths are so empty. I realise that they could very well be masks trying in vain to shift the muscles through the nerves beyond their pretty features.
Laura seems to be reading my mind. Her smile is genuine and filled of me. I feel her entering my thoughts and I can't disguise myself in any single way. She touches me where no other woman could ever touch me. And yet we are so far away. I look at her legs and they respond to my glance. They absolutely follow my wish and open gently to let me feel the heat that makes her look at my crotch throbbing. She smiles again, and I am alive another night.
She lights the last cigarette with the blazing taste of my lust between her lips. She breathes hard my passion and lets it slip out from her mouth with my full spasm of madness pressing numbness over her face. Her hands are on my back even though she is still in the same sofa, on the same flat, under the same summer night.
The mouths continue to open and close at the same vivid rhythms, but our lullabies are sleeping inside our chests now. Her feet rest on warmer stone, her clothes are laying on her boyfriends lap and my fingers continue to unveil her thick pieces of love. It's her who opens me wide, the razor splits the skin of my desire and enjoys the pleasures of seeing my insides. I cover her body with all my pain, but it is her who holds my depressions, angsts and decay. She moves through all this chaos and makes it braver, faster, meaningfully lustful.
Another drink, 3 am. They all leave, we still dream.
She is there, I am there too. The shadows are leaving the flat, and we still look at each other. Until the next night, under the summer kissing rain.