In My Bed

I think maybe I’ve come home to the wrong townhouse, I’m a bit tipsy and they all look alike. I heard that it’s happened to others, in fact there are rules that you can’t paint them anything but white with brown trim and only one cedar tree is allowed in the front yard, all voted on at a community meeting. But how would my key work in someone else’s door…oh my God…did they somehow forget to put in different locks? But maybe it’s an early birthday gift dropped off by my sister, who has a spare key, though she’s not the type to do something like this. There he is though—naked—resting muscles knitted in soft rows across his chest, snoring so lightly and innocently that I decide not to wake him. I sink into the bedside armchair and watch him breathe, the light from the hallway feathering along him, all night long.