They share a bed like enemies at war,
a no-man’s-land exists between the sheets:
a barbed-wire bolster, strewn with years of hurt.

Sometimes, waking early, he lies listening
to the rhythm of her breathing.
She sighs, he yearns for peace.
She stirs; he half expects an armistice.

In vain hope, he crosses the border, takes her
in his arms. Her arms X’d across
her chest, she counters with cold words.
He’s in retreat to his side of the line.

Back to back, they’re drifting off to sleep.
He checks for casualties and thinks there’s none.
Close by, another fragment of her heart,
pierced by a barb, is dangling on the wire.