calendar year

There wasn't a breath left in the room. All of the air had been soaked up by her whispers and the muted responses mumbled through kisses under the pillows. The electricity in their fingerprints was enough to shock sparks of light into the otherwise dark stratosphere. They couldn't be seen and they couldn't be heard, so for a few precious moments in that century-long evening, to the rest of the world, they did not exist.
She pulled the pen out of her pocket. Without any light other than their after-glow, she wrote on her thigh:

"Incongruous as it all seemed, when the midnight hit and the windows broke, the words that flowed from your mouth to my skin weren't anything less than miraculous. Buildings were falling around us, and the mechanized sound of periodic destruction had begun to ring out, ring up, through the spine of the structure. We must've been high up; we must've been floating in those sheets. I couldn't feel a thing that wasn't connected to the smile that you get when you're a few more remarks away from sleep.
Yawning like a child, with your hands glued to the steering wheel and my eyes glued to your whitened knuckles, rubbing against your flesh like they were itching to get out in the same way that I was itching to get in, you scanned the windshield. It seemed to me that you were looking for trouble, but there wasn't anything left in front of you that could've done anything but love you. I stared at the past the way that you were staring at the future, until I took my turn behind the wheel.
I'm starting to feel something that I'd sworn I'd thrown away.
I found a calendar with a map that you drew."

Funny enough, neither of them remembered a calendar at all. But the energy it would have spent on the asking was energy that could've been harvested into a few more thrusts of deliverance before the clouds covered over their eyes again. The time must have been passing at some basic level, for the moon had stopped throwing light through the windows onto the sheets and onto their eyelashes, but they couldn't tell if anything had been living whilst they had made paradise under the covers. And as they continued to lay, because it was an occasional experience wherein they found themselves all alone in their mutual solitary existences, they reveled in a momentary lapse of judgement once again, until the curtains couldn't contain the steam and the flowers bloomed despite the lack of spring.