She straightens her leg. A puff of sigh escapes. Clasped hands tautly pull up, stretch back into beige-painted plasterboard wall. Knuckles crack behind blueblack locks strewn gleaming beneath geometry of elbows, necknape, jawline. Windows open, blue curtains billow out skyward.
Knees rise, sheetslopes form.
Locks rest as if satin wallspread. He sips coffee through steam, smiles at her languor. This is a dream. Windows close slowly, lashes curl on cheeks, then flip upward. I don't know what you mean.