Fiction. Blood or/ False Realities

                                     It was in all in your night kitchen,....we sat together on the hard tiled floor. Somewhere in between the hidden nostalgia,...we buried the toxic fumes of disoriented delusion  into one another. The dark and  crimson moon that peaked it's way into your 2nd storey apartment window. Breathing the soul dynamics of one another. Exchanging the blood and false realities of our past.
                                      Secrets and promises,...forgotten crimes or heavy misdemeanors. Products of the foreign city streets,..and it's forbidden desires. The mysteries of your bedroom,...and the falling of your brown hair onto your sheeted pillow while we made love. The flaws and casualities yet to creep into our relationship. The unacquired knowledge of vices and self indulgence. The love we yet created,...and the premonitions of  wreckage that would prevail through  the sensitive pleasure.
                                     The face of an angel peaked through white curtains,... of vast clouds,... up among the heavens. The sorrow,..I felt on the day I knew it was over. A burned picture into my waking hours of how close I was,...to truth. God was on my doorstep,..for a brief moment,...when I dreamt. I woke up to an empty bed and a broken existence. My apartment was my own. I attempted to forget the inevitable,...temporarily,....but not finally.
                                   My occupation was threaded and thin,...my words trivial. Phonecalls of banished behavior. Communication stabbed me in my wounded neck. The air of a photograph,... and the aura  it exuded.   Her friends did not like me,..and neither did I.    It is too late to dig up the soiled dagger that's been buried six feet deep into your childhood backyard,...next to the rotted carcass,.... of your beloved rabbit,..... that got ran over by a car,... when you were eleven.    You grew up in an upper- middle class neighborhood right outside the urban limits. Your parents were pure with morals and values. The scent of your polished futility.     The precise feminine charachteristics of your profile. Your family refridgerator had one of those built in ice dispensers.
                                     A scattered conversation took place once in our climatic weeks. Was I honest in my moments of desperation? Was that the only time we saw each other unclothed? Bare and naked was how it was supposed to be with us,.....the cover and prototection the homeless take in the dead of Winter,......in the hibernation of heat,.... above the filthy metal street drains.