ghost of love

Dark and well past midnight. His copper colored-skin, a muted red from the cigarette that illuminated his face in the half light. Quiet. We can hear each other breath. In the near distance down by the black, long shadows off the empty street, the sound of four gunshots. Somewhere a dog barks. Under the blankets, we draw nearer, the warmth of his smooth skin, the softness of his hair, the pleasant smell of his torso. It stimulates me - smooths me out.

I feel so calm as we intwine. Arm around my shoulder, head on his chest, I look up and see the outline of his aquiline features in the red glow of the cigarettes cinders. Hooked nose, thick pouty lips, thick eyelashes, straight black hair hanging limply over forehead.
Outside the blankets, the room is ink black and cold with clothes thrown about the carpeted floor. The smell of sweat and semen waft in the stillness mixed with cigarette vapors - but, inside the blankets it is warm and still and tranquilo. Not a word is said, but the feeling is there a fallaheen feeling of togetherness like I have not felt since...
He puts the cigarette out in the tray on the table next to the bed. We intwine tighter, he draws me near, and a small kiss on my forehead. Slowly and surely, I hear his slight breathing as he falls asleep. I lay there and stare into blackness - out in the night a lonesome train horn blows - my hand gently slides up and down his thin side coinciding with his slow, steady breathing.
Eventually, I succumb to sleep, too - dreaming of Argonauts in fiery ships...