Separate beds

[arliss]

I should post a poem before poetry month is over.


Separate beds

We used to fit like spoons
bodies matching curve and recurve,
turning as one from facing east
to nestle, still sleeping, facing west.

Our patterns diverged: you rolled,
I flipped in place; you claimed
four compass points,
I curled into frontier fringe.

Often you pursued
as I inched toward the precipice
until defeated, I rose, flanked,
staked a beachhead on the far shore.

You retired early
I joined you until you slept,
then crept away to read late
till sleep beguiled me, too.

Your limbs wandered wide
my attempts to find space woke you,
broke your sleep. It was simpler
to surrender to the couch.

Your waking guilt
did not affect your sprawling sleep;
you insisted on separate beds
for months, till I relented.

It’s fun to play
“your place or mine?”
luxurious to sleep undisturbed
and undisturbing.

But waking solitary in the dark,
I ache for your skin,
for the heat and the rhythm
of breath and blood.

Comments

[sail_aweigh]

How did I miss this? It's beautiful, albeit so sad, too.