She kissed him in the poverty of himself. The accidental poetry of her scent and sweat tried to edge in through his sidewalk cracks, bring him color. She slid past concrete teeth, breathing life into him, trying to swell those lungs with interest. He kissed her, lips chapped and hard, pressed rough, surplus hands down her hips, over her cheeks. He held her as gently as rough. Touched her face. Looked her empty. His eyes sat full and dark in his face, but his hands sang sad songs as they sought purchase in her. She kissed him, expecting nothing but hookup, fireplace heat, and elegant carnality. She kissed him, finding none, she kissed him. He spoke of a cheap plastic moon, of parking lot gardens, of dollar bills, graffiti, sighing industrial skies, of liquour breath and cigarettes, even as he kissed her. She held him with her small hands in the center of his back, breathlessly murmured arias and fugues into his ears as he felt her breasts, mumbled passion meaninglessly in the unknown languages of other people. She lay there, grace and smooth lines on an unrumpled bed. He stood outside her, surrounded in the corona of streetlights, kissed her in the poverty of herself, in her empty self, tried to breathe love into her.


(Genders reversible/unimportant)
(Mutual poverty, different types of poverty)
(something isn't right here... try after rest)