With the hands of miracle he lies in wait...
his grip is powerful...
she remembers the dexterity of his hands, the swiftness of their movements...
a sense of peace fills her moment. a lightness she has not known...
she has dreamed this dream...
he is a phantom, a spectral figure haunting the night...
he dreams a young woman of wealth and beauty...
he struggles to contain his thoughts...
disturbing thoughts poke around in the empty corners of his mind...
visions of flesh in the moonlight graveyard
as he slips through the night, her thoughts unfold in him...
she is here...
among the abandoned brick buildings with their shattered windows, their rusted and broken fire escapes...
he listens to the silence, separating the silence of solitude from the silence of shared expectation...
she feels the presence of another life intwined with her own...
in the instant of discovery, a thin cry breaks from her lips and her hands flutter up to cover her face...
she cannot breathe...
there is humming in her ears, an expectation of pleasure...
he glides quietly among the ghostly buildings...
his memory is clouded...
a flicker of light discovers her face...
in her bleak unpeopled landscape, she dreams his pale hands, the beauty of his tapering fingers...
she plays games with the night...
Determined not to lose her again he follows her scent
there is no visible sign of life. all that moves, moves in darkness...
she comes to believe that darkness is her natural habitat...
a pulse of fear beats quietly in them both...
he moves quickly, his hands swifter than water...
she kicks out, twisting her body in an effort to escape...
a milky twilight settles over the city. tall buildings become ghostly shadows...
she slips away...
she waits silently in the shadows...
in the grip of confusion and despair, he returns to where they met...
remnants of her soul remain intwined in his...
hungry for human contact, he prowls the night...
now her shadow appears in his dreams...
looking for him...
waiting...
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