I made snow-angel bodies with my legs in the sheets. Opened, closed…the fabric ran smooth and cool over my skin.

Jeremy watched, then set the candle onto the nightstand, flicking off the lights. I dropped my crossword and pens onto the floor, next to my heaped clothes. The wax slipped into oil, the air swelled with warmth and spicy vanilla. His body slid next to mine, a rush of cinnamon air mixed with the heady scent of man. He lay down on his back and ran his fingers up and down my arm, hesitating against my skin, as if looking for a place to start. Looking across his chest, I could see his work clothes folded on the chair by the closet, the same way they'd been when he put them on that morning.

I rolled onto my stomach, leaning on my elbows. The candlelight fell across his stubbled jaw, flickers rolling across the little place under his chin where disorder lived, the hairs growing in a swirl, against the grain and back again. Jeremy dipped his fingers in the candle oil and traced them along the depression of my spine, so hot and so slow, almost counting each bone, basting them with slippery sweet vanilla. He stopped shy of the sheet where it fell across my hips, perhaps scared to stain their pristine whiteness.

The scent was overwhelming as soon as it touched me, as though I could taste it with my skin. His slick fingertips strayed from my spine tracing my waistline, the fleshier areas around my hips. My fingers navigated the wiry patches of hair on his chest, previously shaven, the coarse growth poking through like saplings. I crawled forward, reaching for the candle. The more oil we used, the dimmer the light became. I traced a glistening line down the center of his chest. As I reached his navel and the coarse trail below, he rose, pressing his chapped lips against mine, tongue scraping against my teeth, inadvertently shut as if to keep my heart from rushing out.

And then he'd pushed away, laying back into the bed. I pulled the sheet around my chest.

Above the bed, in the thin window that peeked out onto the grass above the basement apartment, reflective eyes hung in the darkness.

I let my oily fingers brush across his collarbone, dipping again into the hot oil, holding in a giggle when he gasped as scalding drops touched sensitive nipples. He grabbed at my hand and held it still, pressing it firm to the center of his chest. The beats were slow. When his grip loosened, I immersed my fingers in the oil pooled in his navel, one at a time. I traced the slight "v" where bony hips gave way to a softer middle, the gradation of dark hairs…

"Fuck it." Jeremy enveloped my hands in his, peeling them from his body. He tugged the sheet around me, glancing still at those eyes above us. He shook his jeans off the chair, and yanked them up. The metal tangs of the fly clicked together as he left the room.

I sat in bed, watching the oil feed the flame. Outside, Jeremy let out a guttural groan and the tinny sound of shovel on cat-skull carried through the window.