Wet Stars

Where streetlights flicker and windows sweat, I heard her heels on wet concrete— sharp clicks that carved the midnight air, her cigarette a pulse of red against a city thick with dreams. “You came,” she said, the night held tight, red polish chipped on hands alive with rain, her fingers traced a raindrop’s path along my wrist, a quiet flare, a promise humming in her glance. Her breath, a hush of warmth in cold, slipped close against my waiting cheek, I felt the rain kiss skin to skin, her pulse a hush that found my own, a breath before we dared to lean. The alley held its breath around two shadows fused in neon glow, the wet street glistened underfoot, our hands found home, our mouths found flame, we kissed like thieves beneath wet stars.