Cautious whispers in the breeze
say she returned from her dreams overseas.
Our friends say nothing to me,
yet mumble in morbid curiosity.

You say you’re busy tonight,
you have other plans,
I understand.

I’m in no place to make demands.

She’ll always be between
the old me and the older me.
Perched above my lowest blows,
unaffected by the worst of me.

I leave.
I tire my mind with a long drive
under the island’s midnight sky,
instead of your lips kissing hers
her hands in yours
stop
don’t hurt yourself like this anymore.

I retreat to my bed,
its white sheets of surrender,
a refuge from the inquisition of our friends
but no haven from my noisy head.

I send a text in defeat,
Insecurity asks
Her or me?