White Noise

Down along the open expanse of soft skin across which lay hair unwashed he traced a single finger. The skin pulled and shrank then expanded once more, a pinkish wake cut by a cuticled prow. These idle moments of inaction brought them close. In silence they sit, cold televised glow tinting skin blue; the walls iridescent.

"'id you say somethin'?"

"Nothing."

And their eyes close together. And they are in love.

Straw

Early that morning they sat cross-legged on the cracked floor looking upwards at the window and the world outside. 

Somewhere beyond the window a bird called out as the city sank a little farther down into the soft ground on which it stood.