Kiss me 2.1
Déesseares from through my windowthrough my windowhe sneaks glances at meyour gaze hits the side of my face
I repeat, and the words taste of definitive truth.
He smiles, a real smile, tired, happy.
"And you are my music. My wrenching and perfect symphony."
We remain lying on the carpet watching the day break, entwined, naked, victors of the night and of themselves. The stage is empty, the audience absent, but the work, it, has been played. To the last note. To incandescence.
The End