It all started with us listening to the rain through an open window
beating heavy on the old wood of the cabin.
Those hours of morning when the sun still hides,
and the air smells like dust,
we were smoking cigarettes ,
and smoking homegrown,
and drinking water ,
and whiskey.

There we shared unmistakable looks
With cracked candles in the corners
And fresh moss under the windows
We pretended to both be tired.
So we could lie down together,
and huddle close,
and save warmth,
like burning coals rapped together in a blanket of ash.

But it had to be more subtle,
more drawn out,
than both of us wanted it to be.
So I reached out a single hand from the opposite side of the bed
to see if it was ok.

You grabbed it,
and pulled yourself closer,
as if you were pulling yourself away from the den of lions,
Daniel in those biblical proportions.
We closed their hungry mouths together.

We stayed wrapped together all night,
the mess of your hair sticking to my face.

It wasn't until the sun came up
that both our heartbeats settled
and my muscles and mind relaxed
and our breathing slowed
and we could slip into a dream
with bodies weak from wanting.