Only Connect

I think we're alone now, you say, turning on the television at the foot of the bed. Kneeling to kiss me, a text message vibrates your pocket. My mobile sings a sad oriental melody, lost amongst discarded clothes.

I follow your eyes to the bodies on the screen.

In the silence before dawn, I see you clearly as you sleep.

I know we will never be alone.

Silence will frighten us.

In fantasy, we will take all of our past lovers to bed. Whispering ghosts in the night, we will make them lie across us until we suffocate.

We will laugh during parties. I will stand on cold afternoons cheering you as you chest down a high pass.

The sofa will never be empty of visitors, our sleeping bags never furled.

We will remember each other by photograph, looking at each other in mirrors.

We will train our children, when they arrive, to be inquisitive, opening doors on Sunday mornings, demanding explanations in crowded country pubs.

Eventually, we will invite others into our bed to lie between us.

I will hide from you when I cry.

Alone, together, we will be empty.

We will see nothing in each other's eyes.