silver pins and needles

There is blue light suspended behind the clouds, wavering in the chill.

In the dark, you lean forward and leave the sight of your bare back to me alone. You open the window closest to my bed, and ask me for a light off the tiny candle. Your breasts are stark against the freezing air as you smoke out my bedroom window.

Across the strip of yard, in the building adjacent to the house, on the third floor; a man in a beard and dark cap walks back and forth across his living room floor, passing his reading lamp four times and then disappears.

You blow the hair out of your eyes from a corner of your mouth and take another drag from the cigarette before you offer it to me.

I shake my head, and let my hands rest behind my head.

"Who is that?" you say this with the cigarette between your lips.

I shrug my shoulders in the dark.

"In the summer he sometimes opens his windows and dumps trash onto the walk," my eyes are closed when I say this.

You slide down deeper into the blankets, back against the side of my chest, loose hand trolling under the covers.

And there is blue light coming in on the air from the window, there are clothes on the floor that do not have my smell, there is a soft voice in my ear.

"Make me go to sleep," she tells me.