My arm reached across an empty bed, fingertips brushing against a forgotten pack of cigarettes left haphazardly on his pillow. Eyes adjusted to the dim light, searched for movement in the room. A click of a lighter caught my attention. He sat just outside the sliding glass door.
Moonlight reflected off his naked back, casting shadows on the concrete slab. He sat with legs crossed, while his long, lanky arms rested on raised knees. Occasionally his head dipped low, his broad shoulders rising slightly, as smoke drifted above his head, hanging for a moment in the humid air, before disappearing into the thick night. A trail of discarded clothing followed him, marking the way back to bed as sounds of the cicada’s melancholy hum numbed my senses, tried to lull me back to sleep. He turned his head, trying to see into the darkness, taking one last drag of his cigarette before crushing the end into an already full ashtray.
His illuminated frame melted into the room as he crossed over the threshold, blending in with the bedroom’s silhouettes. He smelled earthy and warm crawling under the sheets, pulling them off just enough to send chills over my bare legs caught in the ceiling fan’s circulating breath. I reached for him, tasted his sweet nicotine mouth, and inhaled his bitter habit. His calloused hands caressed my skin, releasing scents of suntan lotion and chlorine. We snuggled into the morning light, never realizing that this would be our last fix.
The summer was coming to an end, threatening days of cooler weather and heartbreak.