It’s December and I tried to explain to my body That I need to stay at a constant 98.6 degrees And that it’s not normal For those 98.6 degrees to skyrocket Whenever your bare skin meets mine. Apparently, I’d taken a liking To being consumed by fire In the middle of a blizzard, In December. I’ll never quite manage to grasp How you make my thighs shake And my eyes go wide Each time you’re merely in the same room as I. Or when you smile. When you smile, it looks like all the biblical miracles Placed into one crooked curve And you gave me memories Risque, raw memories that will keep my cheeks blushing and my head spinning For ever so long. Although, I had hoped that by this time in winter, Something more would’ve sparked. But you only seem to know of Pale spring mornings And sticky summer nights. I feel like I don’t even know you. I touched you, I held your hand, I kissed your lips. You poked and prodded the deepest parts of my tar black soul That were so beyond your comprehension. Yet, you don’t seem real, this doesn’t seem real, we don’t seem real. Am I even real? It’s December and you’re more of the boy I made out to be in my head Based on those few blissful moments Than the boy Who would warm me up, To much more than A constant 98.6 degrees.