Waking up to the evanescent rising sun peering through drawn curtains.
Having the wherewithal to spend a day drowning amongst gossamer sheets.
Faint echoes of coffee lingering in the air.
Muted greys and the pitter-pattering of light rains on a perilously lithe roof.
An old book with no virtue besides flowery language and depressed Russians.
An overcast beach and the deep, tainted green of the ocean crashing into a froth on the shore.
Empty restaurants and a table for two.
Your hair pulled up into a messy bun, strands falling to frame your face.
Earnest glances while lying in bed as the sun sets, having never left during the day.
Drinking sickeningly sweet wines straight from the bottle, scattering stains over the sheets.
The heavy and pervasive cigarette smoke between two lovers under a clear sky.
Divergent hands locked, bodies weighed down.
Two hopeful gazers, one looking upward, one looking at the other.
Both dreamers,
both lost.