Done

Comer here,
the dishes are done and it's time for us to sit with each other.
Like an old couple 30 years less in marriage.
Sit under my right arm and rest your head in my neck.
We won't talk and we won't sleep.
We'll sit on the couch we bought together.
The one that is a little too rough, but worn in by our bodies.
The breeze will dance the drapes through the open window
and the light spills purple and green into the room.
Sit in me, like you grew out of me.
Like we were once one, now two, but still together.
Dear, you made a wonderful meal.
You always do.
And I clean up after you for what you've done for me.
So, now, let's sit. Without talking.
Without conflict. Without thought.
Just the warmth of ourselves and the blood passing through us to each other,
surrounded by the cool of the room.
If your toes or hands or nose get cold,
push them into me.
Tuck your nose in my neck, put your feet under my legs
and run your hands under my shirt, onto my stomach.
Let's sit. Dinner is done, the dishes are clean and drying.
Come sit with me. I've been waiting along time for this.
All day. All week. Its been a rough week.
Come site with me.
I love you. You know that?
I love you. And I love sitting with you.
They're done, dear. Every dish clean, from the meal you made
and the food we ate and the love we make. All done.
Come sit. Quiet. With me.
Sit with me.
Love me.
I love you.

Photo by Sadie Whitehead.  Words by Jordan Lane Shappell.