Well, Why Not?

They met beneath the hissing light, the man and the woman, he in pearls, she in irons; their hands tangled together as their steps resounded from the walls. Such things were common.

They came to a red door, and beyond the red door, a stairway in that featureless plain. They climbed the stairs, starlit, unlit. In that darkness one led and one followed, one hand slid up a moving leg, one breath came faster and harsher, one voice trembled.

Nude they stood at the top of the stair, before an ivory door, nacreous light bejeweling smooth bellies, swelling chests, weak knees, secrets. Busy the mouths, whispering, wordless, endearing, commanding, as a hand practiced and sure swung the door open. Her arms drew him into the chamber, his fingers pressed and explored.

The bed filled the room, was walls, ceiling, and floor; light breathed from the sheets, from the tangled blankets, from the pillows. Onto the bed they fell, and the light and the room fell away. Softer the glow now, and mutable, ignited without heat where skin slid along skin. Shadows ran up the stone walls, intertwined legs, a head thrown back, widespread fingers, longer and faster, stroboscopic. Darkness filled the room, and music.

The sun was rising. The window faced south but the sky was gray. The man stood nude before the window, looking down on alleycats squabbling over spilled garbage. The woman slept yet, sheets kicked off her athletic body. Poppies bloomed by the window and the heavy, drugging scent filled the room.