His Blanket

The wool Mexican blanket was the man's only companion. She was intimate, her sharp patterns contrasting the curves which caressed him, becoming very personal. She whispered in his ear all her most private and luring thoughts. The Hispanic lady stared deeply back into his eyes, concealing a seemingly singular and appalling secret.

The dimly luminated lamp in the corner of his dark, dusty room cast a shadow of light convections over each hill and valley the blanket made. Her frayed edges reached out to him, tickling his sloppily shaven beard.

Her bright colors in each shape of her skin, the fabric, were beginning to fade. This dullness was not apparent in the individual threads, for she still popped out in the room. Whether or not she was amongst deep cedars, spider webs, and clouded drinking glasses, she would be the blooming flower--exotic, alive, and entrancing--in the wilted garden that was his room. She was hypnotic.

The lonely man loved her, pressed himself against her. She protected him, this man intent on being the leading watchdog in his dark old cabin.

Her ethnic allure seemed to exude a ration of masculinity. Unknowing, he embraced it with a passion that enveloped the two of them.

He cared not about responsibility, temptation, or roles; he didn't mind her wrinkles and age. She was his reliance, radiant, her dark hair flowing over his legs and covering all of him. The man rested beneath her, lullabyed to sleep. His long, relaxed intakes and exhales of air was the only tangible motion of the room. All else was warmly still.

The door, thick and coated in dirty fingerprints about its edges, stood greenly and unlocked. It was tucked in the corner, visible but unseen. It looked on, confident and content. The sea foam portal was solid, yet oddly manipulative. Like clay, it was vulnerable and prone to knicks, scratches, and outside distractions. Here, at night, it focused inward to watch the story progressing between the beautiful lady and the worn-out man with previously untold stories. The door smiled quietly, shaken with a slight rattle by the wind outside, still not away of nocturnal life...only enthralled by the duo.

She blocked out coos and whistles from the outside world, allowing the relationship peace. She observed fondly, old and strong. She was the grandmother of them, glad to see joy, innocence and connection between the two mortal youth.