Five seconds from now, you and I will be locked at the lips, and I’ll lose my hands and you’ll forget your voice.
Five minutes ago, you were just another face at the bar.
Two minutes from now, I’ll feel the pressure of the wall on my skin and die a little at the way you drag a breath out of me and cast it into a moan.
Twenty minutes ago, I was bored out of my mind.
Ten minutes from now, we’ll find an empty bathroom stall and you’ll let me in, like you hadn’t let anyone in for ages.
Three hours ago I didn’t want to leave the house.
An hour from now, I’ll lead the way up the stairs to a room where you’ll find peace and warmth. And me.
Two minutes ago, I learnt your name.
Seven hours from now, I’ll wake up with the smell of musk in my head and the greedy taste of you still on my lips, and you will be in my shower.
One minute ago, you learnt my name.
I wish I could tell you all of this now, before we connect. I wish I could say how the touch of your finger on my wrist fluttered my chest and rattled a cage full of sleeping butterflies. I wish I could tell you how I learnt all this from a touch.
But for now, we have five seconds, and everything is falling into place.