The smell of cloves in her hair, fluid.

The taste of myself between her legs.

The pale skin of her leg next to mine.

Her soft moans sliding into screams.

Joy Division wafting in the background.

A pure and honest evening.

Three hours of bittersweet passion.

Driving home, the distance between our beds

lasting a second.

Arriving to spiders, waiting for a nocturnal meal.

Sated, grateful I have had my morsel.

Dawn creeps in.