Sitting on the bed,
duvet pulled half way up our legs,
Floyd playing in the back.
Half naked with her head on my chest,
arm around my waist,
finishing the last of this bottle of jack.
Whispering words of love,
while we massage one another,
and our broken ego’s.
Her white glistening skin,
contrasting my own shade of light brown,
under the moonlight seeping in through the window.
And I’m happy tonight,
content at last,
with the nothingness of the thoughts that do not exist while I lay here.
Warm and comfortable,
on this coldest of winter nights,
in the coldness of life’s winter.
By: Viraj Belgaonkar
