he would run his fingers along the trackmarks on her arm, ignoring the scars of addiction, lost in the hidden design, forming new constellations on her pale night sky

sketching daydreams upon her countenance of self inscribed cosmos

she was floating in the warm waves, awash with pollutants that beguiled the insolence in every weighted breath, his fingers a sensation tracing a fragmented sigh

lost in the embrace of dependencies swelling within her celestial stare

two trains on the same track, barely ever cognizant of the carnage, so consumed by the need for more fuel in their fiery bellies, driven to fill the gaps within

they played in each others blood inflicting inceremental pain while calling it making love