Two

Man and woman watch each other lying in bed: their two bodies stretched out wide and exhausted. the man is still, only the woman takes long breaths that quiver her ribs. The legs distended are bony and knotted in the man's. The whispers from the sun-covered street are foisted on them. The air hangs impalpable in the heavy shadow and freezes the drops of living sweat on the lips. The gazes from the adjoining heads are identical, but they no longer find each other's bodies as when they first embraced. They nearly touch. The woman's lips move a little, but do not speak. The breathing that swells the ribs stops at the longest gaze from the man. The woman turns her face close to the man's, lips to lips. But the man's gaze does not change in the shadow. Heavy and still weigh the eyes within eyes at the warmth of the breath that revives the sweat, desolate. The woman does not move her body, supple and alive. The lips of the man come close but the still gaze does not change in the shadow.