There is something horrifically poetic
about lying beside him after the war.
Silent, the thick air surrounds us in a suffocating haze.
Not touching, I feel him breathing.
I feel him thinking.
We don't dare speak, as nothing more can be said.
Still in love, we must begin again
Together in separate rooms.
I hear him pacing there.
He comes back and settles behind me
And I feel him breathing on my neck.
A force that sustains him, like I never will.