We picked sides decades ago.

No asking of preference.

We climbed in.

Four a.m., this morning after the end of the world,

I raised my arm over your head

like a first date clue.

You came close and rested your temple

on my collar bone.

You wished our room was pitch black.

It would have been a long blackness

last night as the solstice yawned.

You and I hidden,

pressed together quietly awake.

You said you couldn’t stop thinking.

I fumbled for just one thought,

A deep one, for my arrogance

only acknowledges deep thoughts in the night.

A thin line of separation.

Center bed, no man’s land.

The space between us.

You on the right,

me on the left.

I wonder how many times we crossed

in cover of darkness?

How many times have we pulled

the other over?

How many times our back to back

disagreements ended in rendezvous?

I like it when we hold hands

as we stare at the ceiling.

Our favored hands threaded,

our thoughts lying on the pillow cases.

Let’s have a sleep over tonight.

Your place or mine?