Revelry

He turned upside me down. He kissed me and my head hung off his bed. His touch was soft, softer than it had been, because we were going somewhere new. He always took time kissing me, touching me, being close. I got the sense he liked beginnings.

“Tell me nice things.”

He moved slower and I felt him. He kissed me again and the air was gentle, like warm water. The night exists in memories that don’t make a story. Flashes of dreams and moments of hope, obscured by the alcohol that I could taste on our skin. I didn’t want to dawn to come. I wanted to stay, to be against him, in that moment, frozen.

“Like what?”

“Nice things.”

Reality lived like shadows.

We woke up laughing. He pushed the hair off my face, his hand against my forehead. Later, he took my hand and we crossed the street.

“Look both ways.”