She searches for meaning
in the steam of their simmering meal
as he comes in,
quietly smelling of winter's exhaustion.
He busies himself with blown bulbs
and contemplates the crack that
slowly spreads its way up the staircase,
pretending he knows just what to do.
Over dinner she puts into words
the hollowness that's spreading through her
and how she hardly ever feels warm anymore.
He looks at her softly and picks plaster off the wall.
Later they sit side-by-side on a sagging sofa,
feeling the draught that licks its way through their two-bed-terrace.
They lace their fingers together
and watch their breath rise before them.
In bed they knit their limbs together,
ignoring the city's sirens that still make them jump,
he whispers about tomorrow
and how he has all the time in the world but never enough.
Speech slurs to sleep
and suddenly the dark is full of silence.
They dream of realities no more distorted than their own,
whilst dawn waits for them to wake.