I sit amongst cushions, breathing the air only a hookah can provide. Graceful hands sweep through my hair. My suitcase lies long-forgotten in the room. I wonder faintly on my beautiful Jane-but I am focused mainly on Sylvie, whose fingers brush my lapel away from my neck. She caresses me gently, tracing my earlobe and touching the pulse-point in my temple.
I sigh and sink deeper into her lap, feeling her gentle breathing swell and whisper away beneath me. The lamps of the room, curtained by gypsy cloths, tint the room a red reminiscent of blood. I lounge, body opened, various buttons unclasped, staring dazedly at the ceiling.
Sylvie leans in low over me, humming a tune deep in her throat. Her thick hair drips over my face, tickling my cheeks with touches light as snowflakes. My fingers twitch weakly in an attempt to brush it away, but a calm floats over me as her fingers dance over my cheeks, brushing my eyelids and smoothing my brows, dipping low into the hollows beneath my cheekbones. She leans in closer, breath smelling of tea leaves as she whispers, "It's raining, John."
I smile dimly, feeling cocooned in her warmth. She smiles back, her eyes amber in the light, and resumes her kind ministrations, calmly brushing through my hair once more and down my face. I relaxed entirely in her grasp, soft as velvet. I melt beneath her, covered by her intimacy, swallowed by her love.
Jane is no more. Sylvie is now, Sylvie is here. I sigh a final time before I drift into oblivion, lulled by the dying light reflected in her eyes.
Sylvie is home.
A/N: I wrote this with a bit of innocence in my mind. John is quite like a child, and Sylvie, a beautiful mother.