a defining moment

I stand by my window, watch my hands smoke. All the use of fingers and lips invade my mind and I'm feeling very plummy and ripe. There's no light save for the street lamp playing in as faint lines. Everything transfers to black and white. Even olive skin turns alabaster like every little girls wanting. Sweet Thing dancing on the air, it sways. Looking out the chopped grass is strange in gray. I appreciate this small space between houses. Night squeezes in through this space, through the screen and seduces me into a heady slow. Inhale exhale. Lips barely move lest they disturb the drum sounding in my ears, my chest, distant steady rhythmic it goes. I wish I had film for this moment and that I were not myself, but here to take photos of a woman's sharp profile, only half visible next to the red end of her cigarette. It glows alone in the soft searching of the orange street lamp, white by the time it reaches her window. Everything loses color here, even the bright clasping silk turns, sucked dry by the darkness. There's an ease to it to be desired, needs no speaking of. Like the long swan neck. Is time lost here too, it wouldn't be beyond believing. Blissfully alone I wonder if it's possible for the world to intrude on a moment like this. If it's possible for an offense to take place during one of these junctures. I can't see myself being robbed or raped here, hanging on the edge of my mysterious time challenging sill. I am untouchable, unseen. I listen for ripples in the weave of sound outside. But hear only my own ruffling.