Initially we watched telly on one sofa .
Held hands like teenagers until
sundered by your back pain.
Now we are adrift on separate settees,
a 4 ft strait of carpet between us.
Despite your body healing ,
an unspoken understanding
that the comfort of lounging full length
on couches has become habit now.
But on the motor bike ,
when railway crossings halt our journey,
you cut the engine ,
settle back against me,
in a different kind of coupling,
which despite dense leathers
is close as skin on skin.
I prop my chin on your shoulder
as we chat in this new intimacy.
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Fiona Sinclair would be
pleased to hear them