night is still but not dark…there
is sort of a luminous glow that fills the room…there is no light seeping in through
the window shades from outside…it is the fragrance of a fleeting touch that is
still burning the fingertips…making them smolder and glow like ambers in the
fireplace in a cold winter night…like how they still glow when the lights are
off and the wine is drunk and love is being made on the rug on the floor…so the
room is bathed in that luminous glow…and the fragrance lingering from the touch
gets mixed with that of slow burning flesh…as the fire spreads from the
fingertips to the whole body…and what is held frozen inside slowly thaws…and it
begins to trickle…small, small drops falling with a hissss on to the smoldering
patches on the body on the inside…and I cannot see it, but can hear it…like the
sound and feel of the light kiss of tender rain…time floats and sleep tiptoes
up to the door, but wait in silence outside the room…very hesitant to intrude...
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