In my bed
love is chocking us,
takes me by the throat, crushes your chest.
What a mess.
Clearly, we aren’t meant for it.
No soft secrets, no sweet lips,
no hands and toes
under blankets. No blue skies.
No ice cream cone
cooling my tongue while you
warm my cheeks. No empty swings in a moonlit park.
No children playing.
Here we are instead, our skin cold
even in this tight embrace.
Your heart racing
as you pull away, ashamed
for reaching out to me,
fighting not to say the words
that will make me happy,
appalled to discover
it’s even a fight.
But words won’t save this silence,
won’t glue us together.
We will end as usual with a breath,
with hands that fall apart.
