My t-shirt arms were wrapped around you.
And then my arms were still there but the t-shirt was not.
And your t-shirt was not either.
And there we were.
Un T-shirtin’ together.
I dropped off some spaghetti and garlic toast on your infamous front porch around 5.
Around 8pm I replied to your thanks and said Goodnight, for I was hopping into bed.
32 minutes of texts forth and back and then I was,
driving over there. Again.
I had a backwards hat on and upon 3 seconds in the door we were hugging and my face against your neck my lips brushing your skin and silence and holding and we were not not in touch the rest of the night. You didn’t even let my hand go when you led me towards the front window to see the new streetlights put in.
And this time we talked in focus. I pedaled for answers about our direction. Your feelings. If you could give me any reassurance.
But you didn’t want to give me an answer about the future. You want us to work toward personal goals without the influence of the idea of us being together or not. Which I get.
But it sure as heck is hard.
And it was.
You’re the best sex I’ve ever had.
And it’s not just because we’re broken up.
You tell me you love me and you ask if I love you and we’re in that stuff- love love love and we look into the portals of one another’s soul and all I see is pure and for all the minutes we spend till 3 in the morning – the future doesn’t matter.
What matters is these moments in that time and pedalling anywhere other than in that capsule of space, is the only place I want to be pedalling in.