You were cold on the way back from the club, so I gave you my jumper and put your soft hands in between mine. You tugged at the knitted snowman and said the snowflakes on my jumper were cute but I thought it was embarrassing.
I don’t usually take someone home.
I was taller than you by about a head and a half, and my armpit fitted neatly over your shoulder as we walked through my hof, clinging to each other in the night. You began to shiver as I let go to search for my keys. At least I thought you were shivering but maybe you were nervous.
You said I wasn’t your first but now I’m not so sure.
I had to turn the electric blanket on because you said my alt-bau ceiling was too high and my sheets were as cold as ice. I slid into that frosty bed with you and warmed you up with my head and a half extra of body heat. My hot breath melted the sharp goosebumps on your legs, leaving a smooth desert to be explored.
The map of your body; mountains, valleys and me, soft and toned in turn, twisting and shaking like earthquake tremors were rising up from within you.
There was nothing I could do to warm you up the next morning. I woke up to see you sitting, facing the window, sipping a flat Club Mate and asking to borrow a make-up wipe.
I pulled the duvet up to my chin, trying not to show how upset I was while you untangled my tights from yours and made ladders with your toes as you rushed to climb away from my company.
Yesterday you said you had nothing to do tomorrow, but today you said you were going to be late.
When you left, a cold gust of wind swept into the room and I realized I’d left the window open.