There's a banana plant outside his window.

I know this because it's always there.

The way it stands,

Its leaves heavy and folding in on themselves

Green and heavy with life.

They stretch towards my fence like a longing

As if searching for something just beyond reach.

 

He steps from the shower

His skin slick with droplets

Glistening like morning dew on leaves

Every inch of him a slow drip

His body warm, wet and aware of its own pulse.

 

I watch him

A silent witness to his solitude.

And in that moment

He's the plant.

Something in me stirs

A pull I can't explain.

 

I don't know what it is about him.

The way his body holds the room

How the droplets catch the afternoon sun

How his breath seems to fill the air

With something wild and untamed.

 

Sometimes, I wonder if he's aware

Of my hidden gaze, the stirring within me.

Or of the green just outside his window 

Of the way it mirrors him

How the plant bends 

But never breaks.