Five A.M.

I wake at five a.m. and remember immediately where I am. The corners of my mouth tilt upwards in the darkness in a secret smile.
Careful not to disturb the warm heaviness of the quilt, I shift my weight until I am turned to face you.

I will leave at midnight, because you start early tomorrow, was what I said, firmly. Besides, I need to get a whole heap of work done and really can’t afford to be s…
Alright. Fine. The end of this song.
The end of this album. Yes.
One ‘o clock.
Half-past one. Seriously, now.
Fine. We’ll round it up. Two a.m.
When the clatterings in the kitchen downstairs and the neighbouring rooms ceased and the lights went out one by one, you took me into your arms and said, very low, “Or you could- stay.”

The red neon letters now read 5.04. Shadows flicker and gyrate madly, wild underworld dancers, upon the walls, flit across the landscapes and figures in your posters. You breathe quiet and slow, exhaling cool against my shoulder. As if you feel my dark eyes upon your bare skin, your eyes flicker open and catch mine in a long, steady gaze. Hesitant, my lips tremble into a tiny smile, and suddenly we are kissing each other and laughing under our breath, stunned at the wonderful absurdity of this whole situation.

My fingers move of their own accord, tracing a tentative pattern along your collarbone, along your neck, through your hair. With a sudden energy that leaves me breathless you snatch my hand up to your mouth and drag your teeth along its length, slowly. Little shudders run through me at the sudden small sharpnesses, like pinpricks. Awakened, I am a solid sensory mass of nerves; I jump at your lightest touch. It makes you laugh, half-incredulous, half-amused.

We lie together and are still. When sudden winter rain shatters in a hail of bullets against the glass, I look up through my lashes, startled. You are intently studying my expression and you pull me close, hold me firmly, as if to shelter me from everything and everyone outside this room, outside this bed, outside our warm private dreaming-space.

We drift between sweet oblivion and sweeter wakefulness, we whisper sweet meaningless things, we share secrets we would never tell in the exposing light of day. I am not asleep; I am caught in a waking dream, a perfect fantasy. With my eyes closed and turned to face the wall I can still taste your skin, that strange completely-you salt-musk.

“It’s so strange to think we might never have met,” you say as the first wan light of day bathes the room in a weak wash of colour.
I smile to clear the thought away, to make things simple; a life without you doesn’t seem a possible reality any more. It’s like imagining a sky without a sun, an empty room, a mathematical impossibility.

We kiss with a certain desperation as more and more vague light bleeds up from the charcoal horizon, streaking the translucent sky behind. The birds are trilling raw bittersweet songs of love and sorrow. In my heart I sing with them. Because I know that every minute brings me closer to the moment I will have to leave. I always have to leave.

I cannot wait for the day I will never have to set foot outside your door again.