He was a metaphor trapped in a paradox and she was a poem in a bottle lost at sea and it was a story born of the desperation of love and an unwritten page already burning and pressed in a book of lust and their palms would never kiss and their lips would never bloom and press against the others and they would only wrap and tangle under the intoxicated dreams of the stars below their skin and the fires of their heart would always blaze on opposite sides of the moon and eternity