or maybe just desperation
Eyes close and patches of metal grating beneath black sweatervest and M-65 military fieldjacket creaks and in the distance, a dog barks. Each thinks of another and both wish they were anywhere but where they are, but still lips meet in hot breath and hands tousle slicked-back brown hair and fingers brush up thighs of faded jeans and everything is all wrong.
Even in the warmth, it is still cold.
It is always cold here.
Eternity is never warm.
They are cold, but every little thing helps.
probably desperation