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January Spring
In a classroom, my eyelids grow heavy
My thoughts wander -
My eyes stare out this window,
my attention roams to yours
and taps hopefully on the glass.
You're asleep with a peaceful, faraway expression
I wonder where you are, as your body lies still -
Perhaps beside me atop a waterfall, perched,
both ready to push off and slide together
landing naked with a splash in the delightfully cold pool.
I long to share your bed and adventures
However, you can't hear me knocking
because this is just a dream,
somehow meandering its way into this room
where dreaming seems uncommon.
I wake suddenly,
immediately disappointed that you're not lying beside me,
that your arm is not over me protectively,
that we aren't beneath the shady shelter of a kudzu room,
or in a nest of each other surrounded by tall bamboo,
some secret refuge.
But for now, in these confines
at least I'm wearing your old green hoodie,
Oversize, and wrapped around me
like your arms in the perfect embrace.
It is well-worn, complete with a few holes.
Genuine and not at all pretentious,
it reminds me of our comfortable familiarity.
The holes show not decay, but love that transcends
wear and tear.
Our comfort shows not boredom, but a connection
transcending insecurities.
I have a feeling this will be
the warmest January in years.
