Summer Night

The air lay hot and heavy on the city; a late summer night that stills. The kind of night where dogs and people are restless and lazy. Sleep will not be easy and familiar noises sound strange. The barking of a dog and the mournful whistle of a train roll in through the open window above my bed. It was a night of memories, dreams and sweat.
 
I was dreaming about a woman that I know and to whom my heart still belongs. I was dreaming about the times when we made love, when we gave ourselves freely and held nothing back. I was dreaming of my fingers trailing across freckled shoulders, soft and strong.
 
And I was dreaming of the press of a hardened nipple and soft breast in the palm of my hand. I was dreaming of the widening of eyes and the pulling by her calves as I entered her. And it is here were I drift between sleep and awake and I can no longer tell if I am dreaming or remembering.
 
And between cold sweat and damp sheets I am haunted by her beauty and the best and worst decisions of my life. I can almost feel her body next to mine and the scent of her filling me. I can feel the rumble of distant thunder and the ache of not holding her now.