It was a rainy morning in the city.
He looked out the window over the old quarter and saw the dark clouds rolling in from the sea.
He felt the cool breeze across his naked body.
He turned quietly.
He watched her sleep, the sheet rising and falling softly with each breath.
He laid beside her.
The curves of her body reminded him of the gently rolling hills below the mountains where he roamed when he was a boy.
She was beautiful like that land, like the flowers he found as he explored the countryside, like the soil he walked over barefooted as his grandfather turned the ground with donkey and plow, like the leaves of the trees that sparkled wet and green after the rains of the rainy season.
He moved close to her until he felt the breathing of her breath on his face and the beating of her heart on his chest.
She stirred.
Tomás,” she sighed as she opened her eyes.
“Mi mariposa hermosa,” he answered. “Estoy aqui, estoy aqui.”
They made love to each other to the sound of the rain that fell softly out the window on the city of Havana.
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