Who’s Side Are You On?

We picked sides decades ago.

No asking of preference.

We climbed in.


Four a.m., this morning after the end of the world,

I raised my arm over your head

like a first date clue.

You came close and rested your temple

on my collar bone.


You wished our room was pitch black.

It would have been a long blackness

last night as the solstice yawned.

You and I hidden,

pressed together quietly awake.


You said you couldn’t stop thinking.

I fumbled for just one thought,

A deep one, for my arrogance

only acknowledges deep thoughts in the night.


A thin line of separation.


Center bed, no man’s land.

The space between us.

You on the right,

me on the left.


I wonder how many times we crossed

in cover of darkness?

How many times have we pulled

the other over?

How many times our back to back

disagreements ended in rendezvous?


I like it when we hold hands

as we stare at the ceiling.

Our favored hands threaded,

our thoughts lying on the pillow cases.


Let’s have a sleep over tonight.

Your place or mine?

Squint. Sometimes It Is Nessesary To Gain Focus.

I didn’t want to.

Eyes wide open toward the sun.

The gold had thinned out

toward the deep blue of forever.

Where was the end of it?

Sculpted clouds insisted I look away,

their majesty butting in with finite beauty.

Grey smudges in and around fine lines.

I was driving toward the end of day

but I didn’t want to.

Photo: Thunderstorm at sunset

I pulled over and waited.

The gravel road ceased its grumbling.

Trees, like sentries, stood attentive.

The End of Days walked

my way and took my hand.

His eyes, like the sun, shone a path

before us and a finger pointed up

to the blue eternity.

I saw with a squint

the joy of true friendship.

I still feel an arm around my shoulder.

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