Contraband Merriment

Her shoulders were a little less broad than his
and his hands a little bigger.
She sat in his lap, reached back and massaged the nape of his neck while The Roots played...
His soft hum vibrated, seeping through his perched lips and onto her right clavicle as they swayed to a slow jams iTunes playlist on shuffle.
This mixture of amber and ember rhymed a little more than it was satisfying, but in that moment, this unpretentious fact did not matter because they were on euphoria’s mountain peak.
The universe was somewhere sulking, for perfections margin of error had been trifled with.

It planned to pay them back in the AM.