A meeting between two friends in St. James's Park

This is how it should be, you say.

Under the shadowed leaves which hang like footprints in the sky. You bring your hands to my neck and pull me closer, lips collide as though they had known as soon as they had entered the dark green that they would inevitably meet. A one-time thing, we both nod with our hips in each other’s direction, mutual acknowledgment as limbs tumble to the ground and bodies sink into agreement. Darkness surrounds not only with the musky twigs that give into our weight but with liquor induced fog encircled in our eyes from poisoned sugar poured over the course of the night, intentions were made clear, you said. Twenty-one in less than 48 hours, yet through this act of childish hesitation I become infantile again, a few minutes off the clock. You certainly take your time.

You’re good.

You’re good too.

So out of the other five, how do I compare?

Oh you’re up there.

Oh yeah?

Fingers slide down cold skin, warming the porcelain they linger for a while till heat rises and with each breath a sound or two releases - ‘its cos your Russian’  - you utter as you stare into my face, but avoid my eyes, that’s the price to pay for animal instinct. And just like that, I think maybe I’ll pull you to lie closer, and you get up and dust your knees and say 

 ‘St James's Park, five minutes from the queen, who would’ve thought?’