Skin

It rained one summer night. It wasn’t a rare thing for the seasons to confuse themselves, but this night was different. Flashes of lightning lit up the skies, revealing their veins and purple skin. Raindrops tapped the floor below his feet.

He stood under the pouring sky with his eyes shut and a damp cigarette at the end of his mouth. He felt her skin touch him. She ran her fingers down his bare back. She ran her hand over every spot of his body that was wet by the rain.

 

“Why do you love me?” she asked, running her finger down his back.

Keeping his eyes closed, he replied, “I don’t know.”

 

“I’m not here”, she said.

“I know”, he whispered without sound.

 

– milkman 1993

 

 

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