Cushion Valley

His warmth still held the cushion's shape

when I sat down, a near escape

from quiet. He shifted then,

a slight adjustment, and again,

the space remained, a careful line,

between his hip and mine.

A valley, shallow, where the light

from the window caught, a soft, slow bright.

It wasn't wide, not truly far,

but like a small, unblinking star,

it held its ground, a silent word,

a question I hadn't yet heard.