Brown sneakers kicked off
haphazardly between the wall and desk
look like you stepped from them
and into my bed,
as you pulled my cotton dress over head
and I worked the catch on your belt.

Sheets twisted and blankets un-tucked
illustrate in simplest truth
the way we tossed and turned all night
until harsh song roused us from sleep
as I kissed your shoulder,
and you played with the dimples in my back.

The way your jeans lie
on the back of the chair,
thrown there this morning
in an attempt to clean up last night,
as we slept past alarms
and said good morning too long.

Your red toothbrush rests
on the bathroom counter,
a blob of calcified tooth paste in the sink
marks where you forget to run water
as I applied mascara
and you tied your tie.

Keys fished from pockets
lock the front door as we exit
sealing the night behind us
in the tiny space where we closed our eyes
as you told me secrets
and I opened my lips to capture them.