Bring Down the Stars

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.