Sex on Fire

The city has not yet awakened, but somewhere in its twilight, the air is already melting. Everything trembles - from breathing, from fingers, from that strange heat that depends neither on the weather nor on the time of day. There is no place for words here, only the ragged rhythm of the heart, quiet laughter, and electricity under the skin.

It sounds like the moment when the world shrinks to two people and one pulse for two. It's rough, animalistic, but there's a sacredness to it - the kind that lives between the light of a lantern and the first breath of morning air. Everything around may be burning, but that's why it's not scary. After all, if you're going to burn, you might as well burn to the end.