Talking In Bed by Philip Larkin

 

Talking in bed ought to be easiest,

 

Lying together there goes back so far,

 

An emblem of two people being honest.

 

Yet more and more time passes silently.

 

Outside, the wind's incomplete unrest

 

Builds and disperses clouds about the sky,

 

And dark towns heap up on the horizon.

 

None of this cares for us.

 

Nothing shows why this unique distance from isolation

 

It becomes still more difficult to find words at once true and kind,

 

Or not untrue and not unkind.