They have had separate bedrooms
for the last ten years at least.
But I liked to imagine
that sometimes late at night
their drunken stupor would
leave their lonely minds wondering
and they would tiptoe into the darkened
bedroom of their reticent life partner,
and touch their skin. For the the first time in too long.
And they would lay with their faces together
and whisper, "What the hell are we doing?"
Three adult children, and still children themselves.
And they would laugh instead of scream.
And in the black of three AM
they could be honest with each other.
And every once in a great while
they could remember that they understand each other.

But I don't know that this ever happens.
Maybe they haven't been friends in years.