Budapest

Made up for two
I intervene
taking blankets to the living room;
that grey area that grows
between us.

My dog bed
is wet through
from hot tea and
we clasp chairs close to our chests
like the children you
categorically don’t want
and I do.

We laugh, eyes
on the ground that is temporarily ours;
mine wet, my belly loud
and insincere, chest puffed out
and, catching myself,
I breathe out –
the sound a soft whistle through
gapped teeth. Mine.

On the other side
of the partition door
you Buda, me Pest,
your cough is a bark in the darkness
and later
(ear to wall)
I catch you calling out across the Danube.

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