Night train

Last night I slept with lovers,
Between Zagreb and Split we laid down.
Words stayed in our mouths,
Heat from bodies trespassed.

From my side I offered little;
I had none to give.
Feeling a strange need that would not dissolve,
Unmoving and yet pity they shed.

Through his frail back I felt her frailty still.
But they had something I had not.
As if an act of conscience, they knew.
I was cold.

My limbs like a desperate rodent,
Embarrassed and unentitled,
Though searching in quiet.
An attempt to appear complete, I did not touch,
I would not touch.

My hands were mine.
I held my own hand.
For a moment I could sleep,
Comforted, still.

Then my left hand jerked.
I awoke from the right.
This nonsense would not do,
I felt cold still.

And then he turned.
Slightly closer to my side,
Though we did not touch.
He moved just enough and so perfectly,
He allowed me to understand.
I know why I am cold.