Orange

We’re climbing numberless stairs with orange beams. The stairwell. He’s taking out his keys; we’re walking and talking hurriedly. We’re home again. We’re smiling up the steps. We’re in the city. He feels so good, I feel our energy. I’m back where I never wanted to start again. I hear everything he says and I want it more. I’ve never been here before. The keys are echoing. The bright orange: a color of warning, anticipation. You open your door while I reach down a stair to touch your soft achy mouth to mine. We mumble things about sex and wanting. We are not drunk, we are drunk on energy.

I wake up from my dream, my back against the bed, my mind semi-aware of dreaming.
They called my color today. My color is orange. I drove 40 miles.