Darkness pursued us into the deepest places where light became precious, guarded like water in a desert oasis, hoarding over a spot of sunlight where the brick had broken away, chipped by tremors from the subways above, worn smooth by trickles of water dripping steadily, carrying fragments of crushed rock and mortar in its feeble current, dripping over moss and algae. This chamber was a container for our unnoticed existence, sheltering us from commotion of the outside world. Encased in darkness like a nocturnal fantasy we yearned for light, each strobe of the subway brought meaning to a realization, some catastrophic calamity avoided by mental intervention.
In the silence a passion grew, sustaining us for a time and then spitting out what remains, turning life to soil ripe for tilling, rocky and packed from years of sun beating into the crusted dirt, reaching into the dried lines and pulling them apart, moving sand faster than gravity can displace, opening a trench into the sun drenched future and reaching its dirty fingers as shadow falls, its cool wind rushing towards us and we curl into the darkness. Simultaneously, rut overtook us and we floundered for a bearing, something to hold onto as our senses shifted, clothing gliding to the pavement in quiet shuffles, grabbing the closest being to hold onto. Stable and loving as it should have been without guilt or restriction, darkness makes us anonymous to each other, silent whispers remain as memories, and love unconditionally surrounds us. We are what we make of it, drifting into unconsciousness, our bodies gently mingling together in sweat and passion, the euphoria of climax settled upon us pair by pair, sending us groaning and crying out in pleasure.
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