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?