The wall of steam pushed against me as hard as you did the moment I came through the door. In your ice box apartment you stood in a towel, dripping on the floor, laughing as you pulled me close. The droplets of water kissed my nose as you kissed my neck. You untied the bow around my waist. You undid my buttons. I slid my coat off and slid onto the couch as you stepped into the kitchen turning back over your shoulder toward me, a half moon smile lighting across your face. Your smile was turquoise that night. It illuminated me.
The music cradled my back as I laid across the love seat, aptly named. Hand in hand on that seat we fought off zombies and doubts. I fed you soup when you were ill, you rubbed my back as I cried. I confessed my shame to your open arms and confessed my love tucked into your chest. Our first date ran long on that seat; our last night cut short. I couldn’t see how it would all end as I lay there that night, rocking with the music waiting for my moon to rise again.
You turned the corner again, this time in tight jeans, shirt slung across your back. I could taste the memory forming on my lips, sliding through my spine, stored in the memory card in my brain. You were perfect that night. Your eyebrow rose as you crossed in front of me into the bathroom. I had a perfect view of your flexing back as you brushed your teeth and mussed your hair. With your hands pressed straight into the sink, your shoulder blades kissed, your skin tugged tight. I could see us across the country, hidden away from it all, years from now. I loved you hard and fast in that instant.
I see you so clearly that night on the love seat. I’m still on that love seat, waiting for the new moon to pull back into my sky.