My tongue laced his, our hands graced across one another's chests. One billion nerves dived deep down south.
His eyes, of dodger blue were the most real I had ever seen; his smile of chocolate cream and baked apple was so pure, he was perfection.
At 630am the train station was cool and placid. The piddling people hunched black hoodies over their heads, hands cuddling their trouser pockets, scraping their feet across the frosted stone.
Platform 1- 6am, platform 2- 550am and platform 3- 720am. Every clock had a different time, I hopped on the arriving train and sway myself along to your smile (pun inteded).
7am I knocked on his window. He immediately bounced out of cotton sheets and came to the door, topless. Our lips buttered one another's and I joined him back in bed. It was cosy and just a little over heated for my leg warmers and doubled layer.
His skin eased against mine; we weren't there for one thing.
When the moment was felicitous, we unbuttoned and wrapped ourselves around each other unable to be any closer.
Chocolate mud cake filled our empty breakfast-bellies. Milk along side with a hummus and tabouli wrap. A family so giving lived around us, to-be-weds and long distance relatives conversed.
But for me there were only two people in the room; Two people eating chocolate cake with milk, and a hummus wrap.
I love us.
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