When the Seattle rain falls and
Pings on the mailbox --
The chill outside jostling the
Doorknob to find it locked --
Our rooms will be grey with overcast.

The TV will hum and thrum, and
Fuzz around our heads
While the ***** socks lay off
The foot of the bed
With us buried deep inside.

Her glistening eyes will sit inches
From mine, gingerbread
And coffee dripping in thick caramel
From which the gloom fled
Like tsunamis back out the windows,
      and

Like braille under my fingertips I'll feel
The goosebumps of her skin,
And we'll lay here like it's the place
We've always been, with Yossarian's
Tail thumping the floor.