Windows

Orion and Sirius, I.

I have come to appreciate the bravery of sunlight as it breaks through his window in mid morning.  There is nothing worth noting outside the window, really.  A street and an across-the-street, where houses were planted one after the other, nearly identical.  Commonwealth emphasizes the deadness of Winter with excess emptiness.  Maybe it's the extended Winter.  Maybe it's the factory family town, oh so very reminiscent of the Hoover days.  I miss trees, when I come here.  I'm lonely without them.
Still, and though I avoid the window myself because it's better not to look for what one knows they will not find, I cannot help but hold my breath each time he approaches the space where the light stretches.  Eventually, I look away from him as well, so like the window, and I so like a tree.
It seems to me that there's only a matter of time left.  Before I run as I'm so tempted to, or before he begins to realize what kind of creature I am.  Now and then, I'm nearly positive he already knows, but Sunday comes before I can be certain, and it's five more days before I'll see him again.  The itch to run gets stronger the more easily my eyes linger on his smile and I realize that I want to be able to stay.  No matter how many times he has to heat my toes with his warm feet, it doesn't seem as though he's caught on to the problem.  I stay quiet about it though, because I have a tiny sunlight hope that one of these days my feet will be warm against his and I will be accepted as the affection-seeking, cautious creature that I am.  Nick chuckles, "Careful now, wouldn't want your boyfriend to know you have a soul."  I'm a bit more worried he'll notice my heart has started beating faster in an attempt to find the rhythm in his chest when he holds me.

The poetry is in the sunlight that greets him like hope.  I can't write that, yet.