The smoke swirls around her, an airy dance to the cadences & the night holding its breath. Her dance is a pantomime, each move of hers breaking on the shore between them. He moves in the stillness of his heart, to watch her hair fan out & sweep the sirena into silence. She darts across the room, demi-pointe, until he feels her hair brushing against his ear.
The night will spit them out when it is over. For now he waits & dreams. In his room.
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