I come to bed nursing hurt,
determined to keep to my side.
My crushed heart needs
the solace of loneliness, as I obsess
on the sense of abandonment.
Wishing, “Don’t go.”
I go myself.
A journey of anguish
centered in my soul.
I’ll rest perched on the west side
looking through salt water.
You sleep on the east,
spine set up against the mountains.
Between will be a desert that I will
not
cross.
.
I crawl between the sheets
and my feet haven’t left the floor
before I am entwined within your arms.
Pulled unceremoniously across the divide
wrapped tight in determined embrace.
.
There will be no fight on this landscape.
Shawn L. Bird 