Brianna L. Noll
I
The shake and sputter
of the clothes dryer
drowns the laughter, the choke-
hiccough-gasp for air.
We don't talk about laundry—
the wearing-out, stripping-down,
the clean resurrection so like our own.
Rumbling, arrhythmic percussion,
it spins us,
hot-air-fluffs us.
II
It's snowing. It's snowing
on an already too-thick sheet
of ice. The wind whistles—yes,
really whistles,
through our drafty windows.
You sleep soundly, unaffected,
but I fret, fluster, count
snowflakes by the billions.
I shiver till I rattle you awake.
III
You bite my tongue
when we kiss. I taste a tinge
of blood; a momentary
twinge sends us reeling.
It's that part-of-you feeling, the
evolve-revolve complex togetherness,
the bump and shudder of the clothes dryer
as it intertwines our lives.