After The Gig

In the matchglow, when he lights his cigarette
The night contracts around the two of us
All other light is gone for the moment
The contours of his face are sharpened
Eyes are heavily shadowed and the corner of his lip
Takes on a saturnine, almost sardonic curve
He tosses the match, inhaling deeply…
On the exhale, the midnight street lights regain their strength
He slips his arm round my waist, my sweet Bleddyn again
The stranger that was in his eyes for a moment, is gone
And visits less each time we are together
He tosses aside the cigarette and pulls me into his hug
Leather, soap, tobacco, patchouli… Intoxicating as his words…
“Come on Kiddo, I think you said it was time to go home…”

~ kei

Excerpt from Every Picture Tells A Story ~ Book One

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