Between Friends
Despite
the comfort of your bed,
I
slept seldom, yearning and awake.
You
slept, always,
safe
on your side
of
our invisible equator
dividing
bed-water
into
Pacific and Atlantic—
we
two islands anchored
in
our separate oceans.
Except
once--
as
I stared with unruly eyes wide,
jealous
of your easy sleep-slide,
smelling
your salt-sweet sweat,
waiting
for dream escape,
feeling
you toss in yours—
you
crossed our border with
mumbled
purr and rhythmic
whimper,
sent
emissary waves, hands,
over
the line and rocked
close
to breach the
divide—
two
islands together.
Awake,
your tongue stubbed truth
and
stopped abrupt.
Afraid,
we flipped apart-
magnetic
poles restored-
to
clutch bed edges and sleep.
Safe
in our equatorial solitude—
we
two islands
we
two rocks.
