we are with friends
        it is getting late

        I am anxious
        you are coming home
        with me

        I am afraid
        that I will not know
        what to do
        that you will not like
        how I live
        that my home
        has ghosts

        the wine is fading
        I am not listening

        there is a space between us
        as we talk
        we try to cross it

        somehow we come to bed
        we use the whole night
        believing there is no end
        to what we are beginning

        when we fall asleep
        I am holding you

        when we wake
        I am still holding you

© Bob Rixon