"Sleeping Lolita"

by Nina

Disclaimer: If I owned Remus and Ginny, there's no telling what I would do.
Note: Originally an original poem, this fit Remus/Ginny so well, I had to…

Specks of dawn surround her
in the infant morning, as if
bled from a kaleidescope or
strewn from a prism in the window.
They dance, travel to her eyelids, and
sail her from sleep.

She is young, virile,
and half-asleep in the vague
interim hours that lay between
the seperate islands of day and night-

-he is older, hairline receeding,
resting in an armchair by the door.
Sleeves rolled to the elbow,
exposing the almost-brawn of his forearms.

An iceberg, a peek of milkwhite
collarbone, is observed. Bare shoulders,
freckled and pale. A slip of the fair
fabric of her neck, and her long fingers
curled around the blanket.
Sleeping Lolita, or something akin.

A breath of air is caught in his
throat-she turns restlessly-
and upon her settling, the dagger of air
relaxes, and he can breathe again.

Her mouth opens and she yawns,
a small sigh, unbending her spine
and rising from the night's ashes reborn,
or at least renewed, raking white fingers
through a mess of mangled auburn curls.

He dresses into last night's rumpled trousers
and she slips on a new dress.
They ride the glass elevator,
waving to the bustling shadows of
people that they will never see again.

FIN.