The righteous never slept so well

as we did

the night we were just friends.

Wrought iron ferns curled in each others arms like children,

we thought we’d figured something out. 


We slept deeply and truthfully, 

and woke feeling like we were brand new,

untouched plastic and glass,

like we’d just that moment had our protective film peeled back,

by some deeply satisfied omniscience...

But soon enough we’d mixed ourselves up again,

coming together in the way that had never been satisfying before;


I don’t know why we thought

anything different would happen this time.

I don’t know why we didn’t trust ourselves,

or the decision we’d made together.