bonding moment part two
counting the lights in any given apartment at night the red numbers will stand out, hidden behind the kitchen and a wall by two glasses of old wine or lukewarm beer, I cannot. the perfect balance, arrangement of chairs, even a third presence in the room, nothing can stop the exchange of deep dark secrets and if I tried the first time I could not again. though repetitious the things he tells me at these times cannot leave the space that they are given, the binary arrangement that breeds them so well, a perfect air and thickness in between of gently punched arms and clumsy cheers, fragmented and real.
I’m glad you feel that way. so do I.
when I saw you there I could not control the activity of my chest. not quite the first time, just before, but really the first time of an embrace held possibly too long but still not enough yet, fingers stretching and scratching toward the other side and an underneathness still to be had. a kind of coldness at night incurable, what fingers or anyone else cannot do and the kind of blankets that don’t fall right, beds too small or preoccupied. the sheets all wrong and untwisted. my body temperature becomes directly proportionate to the amount of the other one in my brain.
you are a pretty good-looking guy. what the fuck.
I only want to take you with me everywhere. any words exchanged in the dark become heavier and softer, no liquid metal spit from mismatched teeth under poor lighting and the smell of wood, beer, and dish soap, anything given there kept close under clothing where my hands went and I could not keep it there, as much as I did and still want to. I’ve forgotten to carry it and then never an opportunity as it was, but the torch under other clothes I would let your hands go through remains.