Streams of mellow light splay over so slow through the blinds one could catch it, keep it in a jar, and watch it flicker. His hands follow the cool noon as it runs along her body—molds it into her skin with only the heat of his fingertips and his candor. It’s been around five minutes or hours or days or so. She’s not too sure. Time billows into a thing of raindrops and dotted lines ticking away as he leans forward to pres...