when we sat side by side
on the edge of the unmade bed,
staring blindly at our knees, our feet,
our clothes stranded in the middle of the floor
like small, crumpled islands,
you put your arm around my shoulder
in that gesture usually reserved
for those of the same sex — equals,
friends, as if we’d
accomplished something together,
like climbing a hill or painting a house,
your hand at rest over the curved bone
of my shoulder, my loud nipples
softening into sleep.
Stripped of our want, our wildness, we sat
naked and tired and companionable
in the sleek silence, innocent
of what we’d said, what we’d done,
our breath slowing, our heads tipped
and touching at the crown,
like a couple of kids
slumped on a dock in the sun, our legs
dangling above the bright water,
admiring each other’s reflections.
