We only met because you know someone I like, but it doesn’t stop me wanting you all the same, and spending my time in thinking about sleeping with you. It would be good to see the way your face looks when I stroke your entire body with the tip of my tongue, and kissing you on the mouth, and looking deep into your eyes while I push myself right up inside you.
Please ride the beachside electric railway into my soul.
Play with my shirt buttons.
Rub your hairless toes against my erratic shins. The skin feels taut like a nectarine, sweet and full of promise.
We will kiss each other’s faces tired on a mattress until morning, when we can finally fall asleep with the curtains open and the cold sun pouring in, as if we have passed some test or won a competition.
The month is February.
My awkward hands don’t know where to lie when I learn your body for the first time again.
You remind me of outside, far from these walls.
The dust drips from the ceiling in a beam of light that we made blue with cigarette smoke.
I will make you breakfast with bacon and eggs and hot fresh bread. Even if it never gets made we can enjoy it to pieces with our conversation.
“Can I be your Starsky?” I will ask with blue eyes.
You will hold me tight and won’t whisper anything.
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