Perhaps I could meet you at the airport. Too many hours sitting in canned air, stand a minute at the glass wall, watch the planes taxi in after landing. A purple head bent over a paperback book in the reception lounge where you can watch without my knowing. A split second certainty that you should just keep walking, but you say hello in spite of it. You come up beside me and I look up to meet your eyes. Silence. “Hello”, I say, with a slow, slow smile that spits feathers. Perhaps, instead, you arrive at my door. I’m still asleep but the roommate lets you in. The bedroom door closes behind you with enough click for me to start waking. I don’t flinch as you press into the mattress, but I open my eyes. In the soft light of morning, I think I’m dreaming until I reach out and take your solid arm. By then it’s too late. You’re here. Perhaps it’s somewhere else. Perhaps I’ve gone dancing and I see you in the club. I walk up to you, my mask hiding who I am. Walking up like I own you, I take your hands, lead you out into the black clad crowd. Leaning my body against yours in the thick heat quietly, “Like fire, remember?” before I make you kiss me. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong, maybe you call me and I meet you on the street. You give a little wave when you see me and all the sweetness in the world is in that gesture, fit to break my heart.
Later, I’ll arch into you. Later someone will be on top. Heavy and smooth. The sounds no-one hears lifting into you. The ones you ask for, the ones I never give. Maybe you’ll find the cigarette scar no other lover has noticed. I’ll let you guess where it is. Now is introduction. Now touches lightly until the heat is combustible. Stealing my thoughts. All of this for you, spilling like a wasted life onto the sheets.