with the same indiscretion through which trees tickle a scorned window.
The trill is familiar, heard it lots of times, once turned my head,
Planetromeo’s blue website winks at me, cheeky.
I took as a sign the two times I tried to install Grindr in my phone,
the app crashing both times, therefore never really used it.
Planetromeo doesn’t crash. Planetromeo is an old faithful friend.
The pc window whistles out another window which whistles out
your message, an intriguing summary of our first meeting.
Your ass has made a very good first impression.
Few things count more than a good first impression.
We decide to meet and I pour myself in the cold streets,
Mouth steaming, heading to your studio flat in Hackney.
Upon discovering I would mark you, that my jaws
were thirsty for bruising, my lips willing to suckle and scathe
you showcased delight on your face
like an expensive watch from a Selfridges’ display.
We undress each other in a rush, the rush mellows.
You hold my head still, implore my lips to stop,
Cause you might come already.
Turning me over you push me down, my nose sinking
in the pillow, my nostrils filled with linen, ignoring the stink of ratpiss.
You lift my snow-white bum cheeks,
Face my narrow opening which mirrors the loneliness of both.
Not long after we start, I beg you to dig deeper
and harder and faster inside me
Yet what I really mean is I would like you
to hold me tight and kiss me sweetly and never let me go,
but I don’t translate feelings well, they are a language
I’ve never really learnt to speak.
We grow incandescent, and once you let your river
flow down to the wrinkles of my navel, we grow apart.
You came three times in a row and I didn’t even notice.
On my way out, I melt with the fog, I fold one of my sleeves
In a naughty shape. The Overground’s card reader beeps me welcome.
Somehow, a weird feeling remains,
All the windows I encounter looking down at me
Are dressed up in a smirk.
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