On Naming

To close friends,
I have called you
Soulmate--
Love of my life.
I have whispered,
This could be the one--
a forever-after love--
the partner I've never had.

To you, I speak of sliding into love.
I ache when you leave, wistfully turn
to your empty pillow, and ease
the spike of loss by inhaling your scent
amidst the sunshine of sheets hung
with yesterday's laundry.

Morning after morning, I sit with you,
expecting these moments to go on forever.
I watch you sip your coffee, knowing
that you will place spoonfuls of bananas,
almonds, dried cranberries on your cereal.

I've felt a spur of excitement at the sight
of your car in my driveway, a pang of loss
at the empty space created when you leave.
On those mornings when you're not with me,
I am stymied by the grapefruit's other half.

Still, I will not name this burgeoning feeling,
will not claim this side-by-side living
is a living together, will not imagine
you with no other address
but the one I call home.

In every way save for naming
I have called you my own,
but a part of me has a breath
that catches slightly, a heart
that slips in my chest, eyes
that dart away, lips
that purse at the question:
Is this the one?