"cold"

Its damn cold. Its a dark and cool night but its damn cold. I find myself, once again, falling victim to the biting draft that invites itself through the window. Music entertains itself in the background, teasing and responding with brash beats and elusive rhythms. I watch his eyes staring vacantly through the steel foundations of the building, every so often he lets himself ease into reality, his eyes become alight with sharpened intellect and he begins to see. He turns his attention to the resonating lamp watching it flicker and dim. I trace his eyes while they continue slowly upward past the smoldered glass, through the misty line of smoke and into my echoing gaze. I look away for fear that I've been caught. As still as I thought I was, I couldn't hide my intrigue. Moments later, Im back in the empty room filled with silhouettes of branded time, bodies stir and unclaimed faces are distorted in the orange glow. Again I could feel the cold breathing souless kisses on my skin and I am defeated and alone. I notice everything; guilty victories of advancing fingers are convicted with a glance. I hear it all; the shallow breathing and uneasy mumbling, the relentless whisper and telling sigh, the silence of suppressed emotion and desire. But I feel nothing. The room is unaffected by my presence, even those expressions that I do recall respond with blank facades. I turn back to the face but its now a figure in a dark corner of the room. The night is cold and only gets colder as another draft settles in.