She wakes me
in the middle of the night
Firm shove and then a whispered
Shhhhh, listen.

Half awake, I try and hear:
The hiss of the furnace
The scratching of mouse feet
distant percussion of trashcans slam dancing fences

She wakes me to hear the rain above our ceiling
A low and persistent tapping sound
Thousands of fervent typists hard at work,
Only slightly louder than her racing thoughts

Later, our fingers slide together
Finding the rhythm of the storm together
until the only sound is a whispered


Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.