Night-time. The whole world silent. Withdrawn. Only them now.
"Hush now, it's only us."
The scratches on his back. Fading red crescent moons. A velvet pencil of nails. Delicate in their fierceness.
The marks of night.
Tired love-tigers. Magnanimus in their nightly despair. They don't even know; if they knew, everything would fade and disappear. Just like the nail marks.
Fortunately, they don't.
"Hush now, it's only us".
If only they knew.