I
            Through the sheets, you feel his thigh, comfortable warmth like a thick quilt. The heater does not work in this room. The two of you lay side by side on a makeshift bed, three unwashed blankets and pillows, worn and aged like the wine he brought from his father’s wine cellar that night. The room is cold, and you shake. He wakes and holds you closer to his unclothed body and between each of you, there is warmth.
            Tonight, you saw the stars for the very first time. The song you have played repeatedly has a different meaning. The song is now urgent, like his hand, which runs up and down your leg, unshaved. It is a Wednesday and you are not in school. A week will pass, then two and maybe three, but it is hard for you to recall because of the beers and wine he bought just for you. There was motivation in his eyes, careless and hesitant eyes that formed a new expression on your face. He drank cup full after cup full of that expression, liquefying down into a mold that still lingers when you wake up to the light sliding its way to outline your figure underneath your own sheets, clean and smelling of only you. 
            Tonight, you yearn for your own body. The only warmth is between your thighs. The only stars you have seen are temporary and abstract. You walk through the streets and your workplace, and you forget the day before with beers you stole from your roommate’s refrigerator. The song has a different meaning.

II

            Our hands were first cautious, then unexpected. We were too drunk to notice the last words before the first kiss. Between us, an odd comfort like being in a crowd without people. Our eyes, the only light, wanted then found. We were towels tumbling from the mouth of a dryer. Take care of me, my hands often plead around other’s bodies, moist with excitement, their faces still with thought of impression and others. Consistently, I am second best. What happens now? “We’re just friends right?” Those words, now considered an invalid to my heart. I forget I have care around me. It hovers like a six-day-old balloon. We drift like trees. What is the quest? I am enduring because I have no need for cardio. My body is limp with lack of upper body strength. Quitting smoking now greatly reduces serious risks to your health.

III

            The human qualities we contribute to one another are brief and intense, arms ache from pushing against the sheets and the aged mattress, ten years old. Your sweat from your forehead drips onto my face as your lips reach mine with cautious. What is it that my body says to you? Through short kisses and waves of lust, I know at once that this is temporary happiness. You reach out for my hands, soft and cold from the air conditioner. I meet your lips at red lights where passing vehicles peek at a romance they think to be permanent. The interstate is a place surreal and dangerous, like an eighteen-wheelers ability to brake short and safe.
Pass me in the streets and sip at my beauty through a thick straw. I intimidate with innocence and short-term happiness caked onto my face. I can make you believe that I will pass my heart and care into you. I can help you through a maze with our arms and legs entangled and that the stars have more to tell then what you first perceived when you were three feet tall. Keep your distance, for I am willing to give my all, and still, not enough.

IV

            The scent of your body intoxicates me like your hands, trembling and strong, against my stomach. Your almond shaped eyes painted with the color of the summer sky blends into mine, the color of an ocean our trials are easy to manipulate to bypass. It is a matter of time for our feet to touch the ground, heavy with fervor and frustration but together we have the opportunity to withstand time. Turn your cheek to the East. This is where the wind blows for the moment. It is where your breaths will pass, where my lips will meet your skin. My unsurpassable touch runs along your stomach, bare, and passes down to your upper thighs where the hair grows the most. My lips touch the skin between your hip and pelvis; your eyes close, and your lips sigh open. My hand, trembling, passes through my hair, slow, and I feel you sigh once more before pulling yourself up to grab my face with both of your hands of labor, and look me in the eyes, and then past my eyes. 
                See into my body, there is more than what you already know of the human anatomy. I cannot sleep; my eyes burn like a cigarette against skin, my eyes just as red. I have a habit of worry. It keeps me awake every night until I exhaust myself to sleep. 
                Tonight, I yearn for your body. Close to mine that I feel your insides quiver. I feel your face, imperfectly smooth and your arms and torso, long and thick with a natural fear of trust. Look into my eyes and trust me. I opened up to you and let down the seven-foot tall wooden fence. The light posts are still awake; their energy still illuminated as my eyes flicker on from a slumber I thought was consistent. The neighbors close their blinds and curtains to my view; they know that I awake at three in the morning, consistently. My legs are uncovered, free to breathe the air of a cluttered bedroom. My arms long to entangle with your body, long and warm. The night air slips in through my cracked window awaiting the songs of the sparrow family who have made their home in the gutter which perimeters my bedroom and living room. I know where ever you are, you long for my touch. Atop of you, my chest against yours, my lips pressed to yours, I see past your eyes and imprint my body into your mind. There is not just “you” and “me” but a single unit that will age over the next few months with intense longing and a form of love.