Light and Shade

Light and shade

Early hours. The Lovers Hotel.

I would say there was silence. But there wasn’t. Not quite.

My breathing. The pulse of blood in the side of my head.

The whirr of the night. The electricity in a cable in a wall. Something you could only hear when you thought there was complete silence.

But this can’t be silence. The air rushes out of my lungs, like a hot breeze through the trees.

I couldn’t hold my breath any long.

The creak of a floorboard. I knew you were there but that soft sound confirms it.

I try not to tense up.

I am on all fours. I move my body to where I know there is the tiniest shaft of light.

It falls on me, on my back and buttocks, like warm sunshine. I bask in its glow.

I can hear you now. Your clothes. Your belt. Your hands on your skin.

I open my thighs.

The bed sinks. My head lifts.

You fall on me and we crumple into the shadow, our bodies hot and shining in the black and white of the room.