They are in the bed there.
Asleep. She loves him.
There.
In the room with the white walls and eight-paned windows.
Small panes reflecting the light.
A slip of the moon.
The stars.
A cold night clear on the other side of glass.
On the other side where. It is winter. There.
When inside they sleep.
As inside he loves her. When they open their eyes. When no longer asleep he whispers nocturne and she paints nocturne and they breath themselves a dream.
-- Is this a dream?
-- No.
-- Yes.
-- This is.
Now and here.
In this bed here where I love you.
In this bed where--
we love.
The paint is thin. Golden. A black line. Mauve. A dream of two bodies in the night. Open beneath the moon. She paints him as he sleeps. She yearns him onto the canvas.
Two bodies.
A tree.
Twisted beneath the sky.
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