At nine-twenty PM
To the beat of the wiper blade,
the passenger blinked each time.
Both sets of eyebrows furrowed;
avoiding a relationship in the rear-view mirror.
The rain made the yellow glow- it catches an eye.
At eleven-forty-six PM
After the dishes were put away, his feet lead to the bedroom. Cereal confusing his belly. Her reflection was horizontal in his eyes, which continued to watch the back of her head on and in the soft and overstuffed. It remained still. His mind told him her body was positioned that way consciously. He knew she'd pretend to be sleeping, even before he traded a decision of rice for cereal.
His brow relaxes, mind confused. He didn't see the point in going to the market when they didn't need to. His mouth doesn't usually feel for food, especially when hungry already. The mouth and stomach are not the same, he knows.
At eight-eleven PM
His feet into the door, his eyes saw her working. She said she was done, and his ears' attempt at a grasp of something he didn't feel strongly of either way in her fast speech. He knew she was excited.
She: Asked what he wanted for dinner, Knew he doesn't make favorites, Is indecisive, wanted to do something nice, couldn't decide.
They weren't in a hurry.
Emails, files, and laundry filled the moments before a decision was necessary.
Her mouth / his stomach.
At nine PM
She: Asked what texture he felt like having in his mouth. She: wanted something gooey-like, but baked (or with bread-crumbs). He said anything but squid and she is still her indecisive.
Colder and quieter.
She was frustrated at her mind- it couldn't decide.
She was told by him that fried rice will be soon made by him.
She didn't want little pieces in her mouth, though. She wanted gooey-like.
She watches the traffic from the fourth floor window. Maybe cheese, the passing taxi unintentionally suggested to her.
"We should go buy cheese," she says.
(Maybe the cab in the right lane pulled it from her.)
His face changed because he knew she really wanted to, and sometimes he does anyway, but he just didn't can't couldn't. He made the fried rice and threw it out. The texture wasn't good to him.
(He sometimes knows he's just as _______ as she is.)
She ate sourdough bread and at eleven-thirty put her body down to the bed on the cold side near the window. Faced it.
At eleven-thirty six PM
She likes watching the clock on the Tribune building. She likes a memory to be in her mind of when she asked him if the high glow circle was the moon, and it was when her contacts were out, and he told her it was the clock and he told her that he didn't realize how bad her vision was. She loved to remember the look on his face when after he said of her vision when she scream-laughed after a silence at when his voice stopped. And the uncomfortable face he made when he wasn't sure if he wanted to ask it while wiping her laugh tears. She pointed to the moon, very higher and accused him of being stupid because a building can not be that very tall. An erect smile and one eyebrow are the memory of. She wonders how much sense it really makes that now she laughs at newspapers.
Facing the window because she wanted to be cooking, but just didn't know what. There was only half a block of cheese, and not even the kind that melts right. So with the bread in her, her brain laughed at the view of the Tribune while her back waited for him after the door made the sound of open then shut.
It sank and no words were.
She: specifically slaps him, Knew he'd lay on his stomach. Now busy laughing. Too busy laughing to notice his reaction to it. Face still in the pillow, she points at the Trib'. His escaped laugh breaks the effort of his facial muscles to appear upset. That image was in her mind while behind her head. He knows this, too and smiles for her.
