4 a.m.

The smell of whiskey radiates from your breath as it evaporates in the chilly morning air. You’re drunk on these feelings that keep emerging every time we find ourselves alone. Cold concrete below us, but the sweater on me is managing to keep us both warm. Or maybe it’s our fire.

I watch as you speak; a quiet monologue about things as unimportant as me and you under the infinite universe above us. And it keeps expanding, gaining in force just like my feelings for you. We’re here. Legs entangled, my arms around your neck as I hold you close.


Your touch is enough.

2 thoughts on “4 a.m.

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