Each fingernail grazes my forearm
first once, then twice, and again
as I lie on my bed,
chest pressed against her back.
We hold each other and she doesn’t want to leave
because then the world would be real;
so we stay because we have to
and she turns her head, nestled
in the dip of my shoulder and whispers
into my hair:
“I like to just pretend that we could be the only people.”