When overwhelmed by solitude, occasionally I
find myself sprawled along my bed, head at the foot,
blankets stacked beneath me. Eyes closed.
I pretend you and I are sharing the tremendous embrace
of two that have seen too much, felt too much,
said and spake and dwelt in too much.
It is you, then, against me. Breathing. Beating.
I feel your lungs heave, sigh, fan, continue.
Your heartbeat becomes a metronome, in time with mine,
and we survive. We can survive, there, by ourselves,