Spngs of Innocence and Experience (Carl/Mark)
It starts with silence.
Words frozen before born by innocent eagerness and habit of experience. Hands speak the language of lust, tongues battle in mute need, and even when they come it’s not more than a surprised whimper muffled by the pillow and a low, silent groan against black hair.
Mark lights a cigarette as they lie in bed, sated and free, and instead of offering one to Carl he slips his own between the boy’s smiling lips. Wrapped in nothing but bitter smoke it seems so easy.
But there’s always another night, another room, another’s bed flooded with silence.