Your body pressed against me, the trees in the wind
For days the apartment was stuffy
and hot, the air thick. I felt like
one of those small flies, doing
circles in the air above nothing,
We went to bed with the windows
open and the sheets thrown off,
sprawled out on separate sides
of the mattress. Not touching.
Somewhere in the night
the wind picked up and the kitchen
blinds rapped against the sill,
the recycling rattled across the balcony.
I woke to find that you had smoothed
the covers over us, and pressed
yourself against me.
I missed how at the old house,
the wind made the trees sway
and groan and crack, and I thought
one would come crashing through
I am so young and still learning:
Life is a series of things you do not think
you will miss, until you do.