We voyaged with contented vigour, not a second glimpse to the blackened moon. Bodies numb, fallen stiff to the chill beneath dim urbanity - only the warmth of us thawing glacial palms.
Fractured hearts ruminate, filling scars where voids once evident. Further the night wandered, I embark its goading path - tantalised in speech from such copper-buttoned eyes; steeped with stories of a past torn from its flesh and dressed to resemble me.
Our ghosts confide, beckoned forth in rich exchange; the currency of gilded tongues. Stitched as testament to brick fabric, where apparitions tucked rest; those musty Shoreditch steps.