your quilts are long gone and the mattress is new.
this one doesn't sag in the middle.
we sleep on opposite edges, not touching.

we draw poems on each others skin with our finger tips,
telling stories and myths with closed eyes and the lights off.

on top of the sheets; i'm in your arms.

we've gotten good at pretending after all this time.
our skin is slick from sweat,
you stained your sleeve with red wine,
i ate earlier when i got coffee with my mom.
these are the facts we have been forced to accept.

it's easier than fighting.