Gertrude Press

The alarm clock goes off 5:36 AM. You push back
the clean sheets. No more rolling on the bed
in early morning. After coffee, you button
an oxford shirt, then rub both hands down
your flannel trousers. What still excites you?
You stand at the door, your frightened lips
facing me. My tense fingers murmur down
your right shoulder as you move forward.
You move past me, after so many years
together. I follow you, but not by your side.
I know you cannot stomp out
my loneliness. The screen door slams,
you are walking away. Outside
the snow is crusted hard. We know
we cannot give each other any more
or any less.