Both of Us Pulled Back

The garage was cold, the light the kind

that makes everyone look tired.

I held the keys out. The shock aligned

our fingers—sharp, uninvited.

You pulled back. There was your face,

one beat before the laugh came through:

open, startled, not in place,

the unedited version of you.

Then the laugh. Then mine. Then fine.

We got in. The door rolled up loud.

We merged. The overpass. The line

of taillights. Nothing said aloud.

We didn't say what it was.

I keep that half-second.