Our Love

When our love has become
pigeons daily,

when we lie in bed lying to one
another about the weekend –

neither of us wanting to harm
the pigeons,

I look in your eyes after you’ve
gone to take a shower, and they

are neither yours nor mine.

Some part of me – the lightning
perhaps, quick to know where

to go, that part wants the
summer place and the dog.

That fast I don’t care about the
rest of it as you drop the soap.

“Are you all right?” I call to you –
out of habit, out of time,

from the sidelines.