we can be absent.

have  my pillow, he said,
and he slid it across the cool, white divide,
the space between that belonged to propriety.
in daylight, the no trespassing lines were clear–
it was harder, here in the dark, to feel the exact
geography of someone else’s boundaries. 

he watched the sheets wrinkle as he pushed
it toward me. i took it, simply to get it out of the way.
i wanted to see him. i wanted to look at him when
he told me. but when my head met his pillow,
he folded his eyes closed. and the soft red glow
from the bedside clock couldn’t displace the dark. 

i don’t need this, i told him,
returning the pillow, the left side now warm
from my cheek. the distance from my head
to his seemed shorter this time as i handed
it back to him. everything we did was slow.
and we were closer, as if we  had voided
the rightful ownership, declaring it no man’s land.

it would be safer to meet in the middle,
to talk about this with our trenches in
the background and our rifles forming
neat stacks in the distance. we turned
our heads to face each other, our faces
not weary, not battle-worn. this was a first
fight. let’s talk, i said. after a long pause,
he turned away. i heard the click of guns.