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.
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