Specific Temperatures

I want you in my room. Really I do. And I know how that sounds. But it's not how it sounds.
I want you in my room but only because I'm tired of being cold. You've always been so warm to me.
A sheet, then a blanket, topped with a comforter does nothing but give me cold sweats.
Maybe I'm sick. Or maybe I'm just getting sick of shivering and sick of goosebumps all over my damn body.
Things get heavier than they really are when it's cold, especially when all the other birds already flew south.
I want to sweat to a new warmth. Or an old warmth. But a specific temperature.
And I want to seep in it with you. Let it find it's way through the layers of our skin.
Listen, I just don't want to enjoy too much without you. I want to tell stories with you and not to you.
I don't want to have one of those moments where we have to look at each other and say, "Where have you been? I've been waiting."
Just hurry up and get here. We're wasting our own damn time. And I know of a lot of good parties coming up.
We shouldn't show up alone. What will everyone think? And besides, there's food that will go to waste.