a work in progress: floating passion.

I was laying in a pool of sweat that soaked our off-white satin sheets, staring at the fan blades slowly make their rounds as the current from their efforts chilled the ones on my body.
The drapes were spread wide open, the clouds became peeping toms, catching glimpses of my flesh before exposing the sun once more. I looked down at my feet, ankles slack like a loose belt, and wondered what was supposed to come next. I could see her getting dressed out of the corner of my eye as I lay there exposed, the clouds snickering at the pattern my limbs held.
She came into the room like a shadow, zipped up her blouse and sat on the bed, next to the night stand. I hadn’t moved yet, something made me stay. She got up from the bed, rising like fresh bread. A new confidence oozed from her in the way she put on her gray canvas shoes, matching the horny clouds outside my windows.
“I’ll see you next year,” she whispered and walked out the door, with her hair tied in a loose bun.