The stark contrast is blatant, but isn't it always? Stark, I mean. Isn't it always stark?
It's beautiful too. I like the look of my brown legs against the stark whiteness of your
sheets and your white skin. The light is dim with a flutter of a curtain against a light
wind. And I can barely think. That's not true, I'm always thinking. The furrow in my
brow is hardly there because it's spacious inside my skull. I'm thinking about the heat,
the cieling fan above, the closeness of our legs and the sweat that separates them. I'm
thinking about the stark and beautiful contrast we make.