You know I'm sitting in the passenger seat right now, listening to some Xavier Rudd, the sun is shining down hard on me and I'm made warmer by the coffee held between my knees. We've already past three ditched cars contemplating mortality along the highway. They never stood a chance. Yuri drives slow enough as I keep him bespelled with the help of Sixto Rodriguez. He asks for the names of the songs as they come on. He's a good friend. But all I can do is think of you and your fear of bugs. A little bee. It makes me wish we were folded into each other and tucked away like a couple of warm blankets. There's two hours to go on this ride when you say one of the worst things to me. Something like, in another life this could have been a relationship. And I'm utterly gutted; a cruel crimson line running backwards from nape to navel. I'm just spilling out of it. But then you ask me what I'm doing tonight and I'm back to being full of you.

The room was far too moisture-hostile for what we came to do. That much was clear, even if the location of the thermostat wasn't. I cranked it to lo (not low) and turned the dial to where the red and blue half-swirls meet. Your legs look skinnier in those tights, I think to myself, as before you've even taken off your boots, I'm carrying you into a kiss. Two days of stealing them without feeling them have these feelings set in stone. Food isn't the first thing on my mind, but somewhere close by half a slice of pizza has your name on it. You'll ask me later if I like crust. And though this is our second time, I still can't believe you're here. I don't ever want to get used to it. I let you take off your boots, there's a small struggle, but eventually you're barefoot and lying on the bed. Your sweater making itself useless somewhere as I bury my face in your stomach. 

I press my index and middle finger into you. They're a couple of explorers trying to carve out a road that starts at the soft centre of your neck. They travel down between your breasts, across your sternum and halt just above your belly button. We've got the same patterns, I say, as I kiss the spot where they set down for camp. A site of warm be-speckled skin. You blame drinks like you've done, but we haven't had any and I angle my back towards you to show you mine. I remember last week, you next to me at the bar, I couldn't finish my chicken wings, and for some reason you're showing me you can make three loops with your tongue. I mirror it back to you and, just as I was at that moment is as I am laying next to you - unsurprised by the congruity of our bodies. It makes me believe this whole thing isn't entirely up to us, that all we can really do is our best. 

We're getting ready to make the most of our moisture as I hand you the hair tie. You don't want to but ask if the girl who gave it to me had it in for me. I tell you the truth. You're wearing my shirt and you look way better in it than I do. I tell you you can keep it, but of course you say, no. It was just another shirt until then. I pull you off your back and slide in under you. Three pillows make a greater seat than that of any king. I'm still wearing my jeans, but they're all packed up and ready to find your sweater on the ground. You pull the hair tie from your wrist. Your knees are together as you sit on your legs, your back slightly arched. And when you raise your arms to tie up your hair the curves of your body form the most beautiful geometry imaginable. I'm all yours. You could tell me to destroy the One Ring in that moment and I'd be off without Sam and a prayer. When you're ready, you come down slowly and kiss me gently. I let you run your race over me and try hard to forget who we aren't. 

I give you everything. Everything I've been holding down and drowning out. You're giving it up too when you bite your lip and I know that in those moments we're living in that other time line. Breaking down the walls between this world and that with every kiss, push, sigh and new rhythm we put in motion. The truth can't be any clearer than here in the dark with you breathing heavy while I pull on your hair. You scratch gently across my ribs and bite at my skin. It's the softest skin, you say, but I want you to bite it. I never want to leave you and especially then. I put your fluid to use and make the most of it. You always have some waiting for me and I lap it up or press it into you. Its got to be one of my most favourite things. After the longest bust ever we're tangled back up again to play our final game of the night.

We fix the board, set the timer, stretch our fingers and begin with our opening moves. Pieces are won and lost, new maneuvers are tried, angles revisited. And we always wind up contemplating the end. We're somewhat committed to at least thinking about it, and for all my talk I'm terrified. You're at a eight out of ten and I'm about the same when we agree it's not yet time. Our briar maze silently grew one foot higher amongst the moisture. I carry you in my arms, your legs wrapped around me. Your face hidden in the crook of my neck as you play an invisible harp on the strings of my back. Our timeline is slowly shifting into place around us like floating masses of ice and I'm already half a pumpkin as I kiss you good night, in the car, freezing at a closed road.

Happy 24-Hour Anniversary.