tomorrow.

We keep our chairs carefully

scooted apart.

Feet firmly planted 

on the slanted floor.

You laugh when I tip the wine.

Neither dare cross the line 

when hands brush over the spill.

Aged cheese on the plate

waits for a bite 

like the night thunder scooted us closer.

Shuffled apart without a word.

Let the TV static drown 

conversation that didn't play fair.

On the same night, in a sharper realm

I trace the vein that maps

wrist to palm.

Treaty breaks. 

We lose sleep,

but tired never felt 

so much like home.

That version fights

about folding laundry, 

stays up past three 

replaying every slight

and still wake up in tangled

limbs and sheets.

In one timeline, I hand you your coat

at the end of the night.

In one, I straighten the sleeves

hang it next to mine.

Which place is real?

Split exists inside a breath.

Standing between almost 

and it's supposed to be this way.

We know we lived in both.

Remember the friend who stayed.

Love that crossed the divide 

of cushions and pride.