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into suffocating days;
&nbs
p; gasping through nights
in sweated sheets
eyes squeezed shut
your name locked behind
my clenched teeth
grasping at relief
until you’re here
and I
can breathe again
and I
can bask again
in the shifting colors
of your gaze;
gold, green, and brown—
your namesake captured
in your eyes.
My face tingled hot, then cold, then hot again. The poem infused me, each line bending and flowing and breathing into the next, creating one fluid sensation. I didn’t see individual words. I felt the whole, like staring at a painting. But the last three lines stood out, demanded I read them again and again.
gold, green, and brown—
your namesake captured
in your eyes.
“My namesake?” I murmured.
“Hey, sorry about that.”
I jerked my head up, staring, the paper slack in my hand. Connor stopped midstride into the living area, his brows furrowed in concern for me.
“Are you okay?”
I rose to my feet. “Is this yours?” I offered him the poem.
Connor took the paper, and his eyes scanned it. “Oh this. This is…” He glanced up at me quickly and handed the poem back. “I mean, it’s nothing.”
“Did you write it? For me?”
He stared at me, a thousand thoughts behind his eyes. His chin lifted the tiniest bit, then lowered.
