Man and wife are looking at
different walls of the bedroom,
backs slightly turned against the other, naked,
a city below rumbling with
life and excitement, alive like Friday nights,
downtown bars, expensive cocktails,
the flirting, playful glances and touches.
The sound and the noise muted
through pre-war walls,
a car honk, a laugh, a yell,
myriad yawps of joy,
nullified wholly by lovers’ distance,
thick miasma, spiritual toxicity,
dull and grumbling like
Their feet and legs are touching,
but all senses of touch are feelings
of electric repulsion;
no two things ever touch.
It just feels as though they do.