Red Wine

It tasted like red wine and a superfluous mixture of extraordinary love and indescribable sorrow inside of her mouth the night before she forgot how to spell her own name. There's a cocoon wrapped up inside of wrought iron cages to keep all the sensations inside her bed. They are just a centimeter too far apart for their cells to begin to replicating into one another, but their breathing makes it seem like a mile stands between their comfort and the rest of the world.
They make much more sense together than they ever did before. They walk while trading hands and minds and secrets made up of chai tea and reminiscence. Beautifying the ramifications of a lifetime of inadequate nightmares, they both have suddenly located the X on the treasure map.
They stand back to back, hiding the way that they hold hands in the shadows. They are living a hundred years in the past and seven months in the future, wishing in a different language and reading about the way that other people have loved before. It's nothing that can quite compare.