Orion has my eyes.
or rather, his belt
does (like
        what happens when you
        cross your eyes in the mirror
        and two becomes four
        becomes three if you strain
        just enough)
and maybe that’s narcissistic of me
but our first kiss let me see
your eyes instead.

As if the geysers
on Enceladus
are whispering
snowfall in my ear
I can hear the morning
rustling of my blood
and yours.

Our hands will build
the other with smooth stones
while Orion breathes above.