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I’m having trouble reading you sometimes.

First, you lapped me up like a stray dog in heat, but not quite. On nights when we drank together, nothing much else seemed to matter but the moment, until the sun showed us we pushed it too far again and you really needed to clean your coffee table. Too many fingerprints on the glasses. Almost out of cigarettes. Never have I heard so many words between words as when we talked about what bugs us, what brings us to life. You kept looking at my lips.

Then, in cold terms, you made clear what you told yourself you’re looking for, you didn’t need anybody. There wasn’t a glimpse of me in there. Since forever ago you hadn’t fallen in love. Or so you say. As one does, I told myself I misheard you when you named me prince of everything. Fool’s more like it. Needed a drink after that. Maybe two. Maybe more. I forget.

We hid amongst our friends as friends. Dining, laughing, cracking unsavory jokes. Celebrating life in all its shitty splendor. Playing your out of tune guitar all night. Not a single stolen look crossed the room. Denial. Sweet presence. I wanted to touch your hair.

We kissed when they left. Showed parts and licked them, sucked them. You asked me to taste you. I grabbed your ass and felt your petite but strong frame against mine. I never knew you were this delicate, your fragile shoulders in my arms. You smelled like flowers, my heart sang while it cried. You didn’t pull me close and then you did. My body, my lower chest had a golden light, it reached out through my breath. It went up in smoke, together with my sanity. The pathos.

I forgot there was sound around us. Then the couch creaked when you climbed on top of me to eat my lips, my tongue and my soul. I understood that you were hungry – fasting makes for feasting. It’s always been there since day one. Did see that. The air had been thick sometimes. You wanted me inside of you, slowly rubbed your crotch on me, but we stopped. We did the romantic thing, holding each other, touching cheeks, locked eyes, smiles, kisses.

You went to go pee and I had another cigarette. I had to go home. We hugged at the door, and spent half an hour of eternity kissing like it was our last chance. It was.

There were forty-eight hours in that day, I’m sure. The dark didn’t divide time at all, everything was out of synch yet perfect – as far as hangovers and guilt can let anything in. Can’t regret what I don’t regret. The streets were bleak but I didn’t notice.

You came to visit after work, she was there as well. You asked her about some books, admired her wisdom and sweater. You talked about this other guy you met. You avoided my eyes. We shared a bottle of wine between the three of us and set a date to meet up with everyone again, to play cards, mundane rebels that we are. It stung like nothing else. Nothing ever happened. Lies to not break hearts. Seemed like a noble goal in itself. Still, secrets are just cherished lies, in any sense.

One thing I know is that we are magnetic. A tug across miles felt through telephones and silence. I’ll reach out with an excuse, just to hear your voice. Walking on clouds makes my head foggy. I’ll probably fall through, pretty soon. It only takes a step.

You always know just how to remind me that I’m strong enough to cope with life. And you admire my sensibilities, telling me I changed you for the better. I sneak in a compliment, to test the waters. Twice already, you said you were taking a bath then and there. I made lewd remarks which made you laugh. Hints between subtle and crude. Stuck in my head, the vivid mental image of you touching yourself. Wet tips of hair on your shoulders, your breasts, skin shining, a hand between your legs. Mouth half open.

You trust my opinion and seek it, often. Sharing your failures, your often needless fears and doubts. But they mean the world to me in those late hours. We search for truth while avoiding too much pain. Tell me again how handsome I am, my torn heart can take it. Pour your honey over me.

Gloriously imperfect lovers without a name. Warm hands on either side of a cold window. I can no longer deny I want you.

Suspended between now and ever, us two. Even if this was it, the light was strange, but a light it was.

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On the first wet afternoon we had a bath together as foreplay for the lesbian sex we had tacitly agreed to. We have similar bodies, size 12, good legs, though Jan’s thighs are better than mine and are a real attention getter from men when she wears a short skirt and sits cross-legged in a bar. We regularly wax each other’s pubic hair and as she waxed mine I told Jan exactly what I wanted, “Nothing on the sides of my cunt lips, but a thin, long tuft above.” “I keep telling you have far too...

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