At this distance, I am feeling
the coldness of my cheek pressed up
against the glass
of windows high on second floors,
breath beating and vanishing,
sucking and blowing out my chest.
I hear the whisper of you sleeping,
even though you know not I am there.

I'm waiting patiently for any word,
until them I will sit on the outside
looking in, lurking shadows,
hoping you never see me there.

This is not to alarm you,
there's just a curiosity about
the twitching of your eyelids,
and what visions loom themselves
in colored threads under there.