sensing summer

I noticed this way…
my fingers curled
when we kissed.
That time
behind his house
in the neighborhood
where we grew up,
in front of
a spray-painted
on the trails
he used to drive around
years back.
He kissed me
and my hand shaped
an open-palm fingertip grip.
Knuckles whitening
with anxiety and
possession, both kinds.
Praise and grace.
The sun was shining
for the first time
that summer. He and I
recently survived
back to back winters
for different reasons.
Physical circumstances.
Hemisphere. A year
locked away.
When life presents you
with over twelve months
of winter, for whatever reason,
the heat that finally penetrates
sets fire
to the long-awaited
season ahead.