i don't know

gazing at you now
with my hand caressing your shoulder blade
in the night, beneath the gleam of low light
i never noticed how old you are looking
how long, how tired
how heavy with uncertainties
your thinning hair, your unkempt beard
how your feet straddle the edge of the bed
and the end of the sheet
and i wonder if that is some sort of
wacky, symbolic gesture
because lying here with my finger
on your spine
i can tell you don't like it best
the way that my skin feels on yours
by way that you sigh in the quiet times
and silence in my head that belongs to you
something is slipping, escaping you
and i can't figure it out
perhaps it's because i yelled at you today
and yesterday and that last Wednesday in June
or maybe it's my self esteem
sometimes i just want to know
and with your back turned away from me
i don't