cause I really have nothing to say

At first you leave me your brown hoodie. It is raining when you arrive. Grey friday. Leather jackets. We walk with chilled fingers. It is the second week to know each other. The moment I shut the door I pull it on and hood up. It smells of you and I climb back into bed to savour.

The green ireland tshirt is abandoned after hockey. It is a sweaty wet mess. We are fucking then and I wash it with the sheets. I put on perfume and press the shirt to me to fold it. I want scent to invade the way you do me.

October.  You leave me your black shirt on purpose to wrap your arms around me while you are gone. This is how I discover you are a secret romantic. We are not only fucking now. I like turning over to find myself surrounded by you. I sleep soundly naked and your smell.

Empower darfur. Another casuality of hockey and sweat. This is the shirt you are wearing when we meet for the first time. I kiss you on the street and invite you back to my house. You will peel this shirt off your back later. You will fuck my voice hoarse. I will like your hands and soft body. I will like this desire for you. I will like how you spoon me and I wake comforted. I wake up at the start of safe again and like it.