our night in

Work sits so hard
on my pursed lips
while words still whip
from the tip
of your tongue, catching
only my corners.

It’s out of our hands now.

So let’s watch, as the heat sticks
to the dusty fan blades
spinning thick thoughts
into our unguarded walls.

Orly's 4 pound frame hugs heavy
when he sleeps, and my cradled
hand starts to tingle.
I don't want to wake him, so
just like this living room, and these deep
red shadow curtains,
I too, sit heavy.

if i stepped outside, I
would hear the birds try
to rustle up some spring

but inside, white walls and this stall
ing silence press in.
It starts sweet, like a cat nap,
until even the idea
of moving
starts to prickle.