I ache for your presence at my backdoor.
Sometimes when it’s late
And I’m about to go to sleep
I’ll walk down stairs and look through the glass.
I picture you hopping over the back gate and running up to where I wait.
I mouth for you to take off your shoes so that my parents won’t hear you walk, but eventually it just becomes habit for you.
I’d slowly slide the door open, sometimes having the laundry on to ensure they wouldn’t hear.
You slide in, kissing me hello, and I close the door behind you.
I walk out the basement and by the stairs with you trailing close behind, but far enough to hide if necessary.
“Goodnight, guys.” I say to my parents upstairs,
Then slip silently into my room.
Sometimes I still go through the motions alone to remember the feeling it gave.
The nerves and adrenaline and satisfaction it was to have you there.
We’d spend hours together lying on my bed or floor
But always in each other’s arms.
On weekends you were always over
But even on school night we had to be together.
I had to feel you there.
As you’d leave, you’d kiss me goodbye, slipping back out that door.
I’d close the door behind you,
Watching you relace your shoes.
I’d put my hands on the glass and you’d place yours across from mine
But not even the thick glass could block our energy.
Sometimes when I picture you parting for the night
I put my hands on the glass like I used to.
But our energy isn’t there anymore.
Just the cold touch of the night air.