Call In Sick Day

There is fog in my house.
I always wish for you now.

The thought alone
makes that very
special place
in my stomach
feel.

Are you
the same?

We may always want
a little more for ourselves:
always stronger
braver
thinner
smarter -
but with you,
of life, at least, I require very little.

I like the way sheets
and blankets
sound like soft paper
when people shift positions in bed.
The sound cuts through
the peace for only a few seconds,
warms the white noise of
the air conditioning,
a clicking ceiling fan,
the fifteen minutes you spend
on your back breathing loudly,
the fifteen minutes you never know
about,
the fifteen minutes that would go
on longer
if I hadn't,
upon waking to you in the dark,
placed my fingers on your mouth,
the gentlest way I know how to
tell you to
shut
up.

This is considering
you even breathe loudly.
I don't know you.
I don't believe you've ever
fallen asleep near me.

I sleep well most nights
though.
Since you, I do.
I wake up alone
(feeling, however, far from it)
and
I do usual things
unusually.
Routinely.
I watch the morning news
and the sky looks gray
and I like this cereal
with soy milk, for the taste I say,
but I know in
my heart,
for the protein, too.

Everything is
soaking wet outdoors
and the weather man predicts
a dark, cold day
in a voice
like it's all going to be
alright, though.

Today you woke up.
I was sitting on the couch.
I might have been drinking coffee
but probably not.
It isn't like me.
Your eyes are swollen tired, half-way closed
as you walk toward me.
You place your hands on my shoulders,
push me over,
crawl on top of me and
squeeze my body with your arms
and
in seconds you are falling back asleep.
I laugh.
Either you've hummed something to me
about staying home and sleeping
in today,
it's dark and cold
and we're warm,
and you'd miss me
and I woke you up from a dream.
Just for today, can I stay?
or you thought it and I heard.
You wrap your foot around my ankle,
and I've called in sick.
Today, the flu
makes sense.
The flu buys me at least two
days.
I have put time and energy
into this home,
and today is a
good day to take advantage.
Stand up, and we can go back
to bed.

The middle of winter,
I lay back down
and as you've done
so many times
before
you cover me in
everything.
All is still,
so we sleep again.

The gray sky turns morning,
and sun
through cracked blinds
spills in,
and dust spins,
and I smell our laundry detergent
under here,
and you.

A nice sentiment.

I do pray
to find you,
to find me.
I'm sure
our house would
pray too.