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The room hums a perfect silence.
I watch you dream, as I mentally record the ambiance.
I place it with my collection of stolen moments.
Your face hidden in the tangle of bed sheets, so I imagine your beauty without sight.
As my eyes adjust to the low-light.
Dawn decapitates tobacco trails, slicing holes in our ebony solitude.
The tears of our pores glimmer, like broken galaxies scattered across our skin.
Your scent sets my senses aflame, a smoldering buffet of lust.
My dirty mind clouding my head.
Not a clean thought in sight, as we lay in the Low-light.
©R. Marrs 2014.