I called you up
at five in the afternoon
when the sinking sun rays filter
through your golden hair;
you looked gorgeous.

You asked me what I want.
"Let's just hook up," I said.
With one arm around my shoulders
you sneak into my dorm room
(my roommate isn't back yet).

Gingerly you get onto my bed,
scooting over, making space
for my clumsy hands and the messy sheets
I've left unfolded in my rush this morning.
I don't quite know what to do.

Your fingers slide into my hair.
Is this a bad idea?
Your eyes ask me if I am nervous.
What to say, what to say?
Your lips meet mine and the knot in my stomach

untied. Is this what love feels like?
No, no, I deny my infatuated brain
even as I taste you on my tongue and
feel you through my shirt, this is a hookup,
don't be stupid now, ah,

shit, my roommate, idiot—
You pull away in a hurry and I
jump off the bed to let you go, face
probably beet red; my roommate is staring
as we go out into the hallway, skin

cooling. You didn't hate that, did you?
"Talk to you later," you say before turning,
slow enough so I can catch your smile.
I feel my chest squeeze and burn.
"Let's just hook up," wasn't it?

♥︎

lowkey inspired by the story of a friend who was "the roommate" úwù poor guy...