And there’s the sound of breathing.
There’s the sound of your laugh, short and breathless and morning sleepy.
There’s your eyes, crinkled at the corners, leaning forwards, making a face at me.
Lean in, kiss that face. Kiss a cheek and a forehead.
Rest a hand behind your head, cup the short black hair. Smooth it down.
And there’s the sound of silence, and a weight on my chest where you lay,
and the vague thrumming of your heart beating through your chest,
through your jacket, against me.
Run a hand up your leg, penguin pajama bottoms.
Up your side, softest skin I’ve ever touched.
Pull you closer and hold on to you and hope you let me for this moment.
And there’s the smell of your jacket, and your skin and your hair
and they’re all different and I know them all so well.
And there’s the sudden way my heart strains against my ribcage.
Close my eyes. Press my face into your jacket.
I know the way we fit into each other, and I know our foreheads pressed together.
I know the crook of your neck and the curve of your spine
Know the spot on your chest where I lay my head and close my eyes and feel insanely happy.
I know the freckle behind your ear;
the way I told myself to remember it was there, when I first noticed it
because somehow it just felt important.
it felt like the most important thing I could think of, just then
As if, if someday someone asked me to draw a map of your skin
and the fate of the world hung in the balance,
I would be Superman; I wouldn’t forget a thing.
And you’d be like the sky with a map of freckle stars,
and no one would ever forget how bright you shine
Even when you’re just laying there, half asleep.
And the feeling is sharp, in my chest, almost like pain.
Like belonging somewhere, hoping to hold out hope, burning.
And then, there’s you.