Ken's Poetry

Back To Back

When he brushes her cheek
with his dry lips,
playing out their old goodbye routine,
does something stir inside?
There is comfort in her hand;
and when occasionally
they hold each-other tight,
there is relief.
But mostly she is doing her own thing,
and he is doing his,
they meet for meals, to watch TV,
to do the weekly shop.
He does not put his arm around
her warm waist anymore,
she does not hold his hand,
but loops her arm through his.
They don’t agree much now,
perhaps they never did,
spend silent days unspeaking
nights back to back in bed.