We’re on a hill and it was hot and muggy today but now the sun is setting and it’s cooling down the earth. We were out at noon around the city so our skin held the heat in it, reflecting back day at us, and our flush keeps us warm. I never kiss you except atop your head. I’m not quite sure I can, yet. My arm is around you and I don’t mind leaving before it gets dark. We see the pink and yellow clouds behind the skyline but we’re so far away. We’re so far away. I take you home and, instead of a touch-goodbye, I held your eyes in mine in the way I wanted to hold your whole. It feels just as nice.
it’s raining outside but you woke up here. We’re both dry and warm and unafraid of the vulnerability of first touch. You like the bad movies that I like and we won’t ever get up from the spot. I wish you’d tell me aloud how you really are but I do my best to kiss the lethargy and ache out from you through your neck, chest, and hands. Want me back. Want me back.
We’re driving and it’s unbelievably cold out but my car is warm from breath and vents. I look to you and you’re looking out the window. That’s fine. I had hoped I’d see you thinking. We’re going to a friend’s party in winter and they live outside the city so it’s a bit of time together but we don’t mind the silence at all. We’re used to the other’s need for thought, enough time to find more. I’m finding you.