We are weary at the end of the day Behind our closed doors it is quiet Except for the roar of silence in our ears We unwind like tight spools The tension melting from between neck and shoulder We wrap ourselves in comfortable cottons Our faces scrubbed clean and tight Palliative lotions rubbed into our hands Teeth like minty stones Eyelids heavy, washed with relief Swallows of warm milk or merlot Fuzzy socks and all things elastic To fall into bed with our dreams