The knob’s lock unsnaps. The deadbolt sounding in turn.
A door creaks open and closes quietly.
It is the day after the rite of the last night.
“I want. I want to,” she says, quietly.
“I want, too,” he whispers.
They are two.
“Kiss my lips,” she says.
“I don’t care. Just put that with which you speak to the pink of that with which I feel.”
“I feel too big,” he says.
“Then your heart is full and hollow like a cactus tree.”
“I wish I felt emptier,” he says.
“So that I could dissolve back into the ether for a respite,” he replies.
“No. Like, dream.”
“Tears aren’t cutting it?” she asks.
“No. Fall apart with me.”
“Why don’t I just pet your head when you feel worthless or uninspired?” she coos.