today i woke up to the smell of soggy grass soaking up the boulevards of snow outside my bedroom window. it is spring and our night was filled with the fluorescent bleeding chaos of the city lights in a warm breeze. i scrambled over your contour in the covers, strategically star fished as you wage a territorial war for my side of the bed (i have yet to figure out if this is a conscious decision on your part) and onto the balcony to touch the bottoms of my bare feet on the cold spring concrete. my building is old and beautiful and it still holds its ghosts, burning with the smell of home cooked meals, cigarettes, and infrequently used sticks of oddly named incense. i dig through my records for something spring like, and hop to the kitchen to grab a beer (it's past noon and we have the day off) i drink when i'm happy which can be dangerous as the thoughts of the humidity and history and the stardust we share burst with the promise of summer. i open the french doors wide to let the spring air in, and flip on the playstation three. "you're such a boy" you sigh as you squirm beneath the sheets, but with one eye peering out from beneath the covers you look intently at the second controller and quietly ask "what are you playing, can i play too?" and we start our day off with the tip of my nose pressed beneath yours, angled in such a way that i can squarely position your bottom lip between the both of mine.