Fighting and Making Up

You yelled at her.
She walked away and
stood by the window
gazing into the yard
arms crossed in front of her
eyes shining.
I glared at you,
walked away
from you
to her.
I ran my hands
up and down her arms,
played with her hair,
rubbed her shoulders.
She reached up
to cover my left hand with hers
and tilted her head to the right
resting it against the other one.
I stroked her cheek with my finger
then untangled my hands and
slid them around her body
pulled her back against me
rested my chin on her shoulder.
It’s ok, I said,
please don’t cry.
You walked into the kitchen
to see me
embracing your wife.
I heard you sigh.
Heard the rasp of your hand
as you rubbed it
against your morning scruff.
Heard you walk towards us.
Heard you hesitate.
And then your arms were
around both of us
your chin on my shoulder
the way mine was on hers.
I’m sorry, you whispered.
She and I both reached back
at the same time
to include you in
our embrace.
And just like that
we were fine again.
Throuple life means
sometimes
I’m the buffer.
The bridge.
The glue.
I don’t mind.
I need the two of you
to be ok
so the three of us can be
this
fucking
good.