In Lori's Room

Shades,
drawn against
the heat,
heaved 
steaming 
sighs
as leaves 
outside
murmured
in the 
meager 
breezes
of a summer 
evening,
 
when the 
fading light 
casts in copper 
bricks and 
brownstones.
 
In the dim
and stifling 
room
she whispered,
"How can this
be wrong?"
 
"It can't," 
I answered, 
as, with fingers
intertwined, 
we swayed
through an 
exotic dance, 
our hips
humping in 
rhythm.
 
Each a 
mirror image
of the other,
 
we sailed
like kites
released from 
their strings
 
and woke
to a blazing 
morning,
chirping birds 
and breakfast.
 
And on my 
short walk 
home,
 
above the 
shadowed bricks
I floated, 
 
lighter 
than the 
sultry air.