I lie down
Curled in bean bag
Arm cuddled round
There is no room for you
You sit in the chair
Companionably place your hand on my hair
It is nearly night
We do not break the quiet
To speak would invite spite
Together too long
Communication only leads to boredom
But when silence rules
Irritation with repetition ebbs
Letting bodies relax into familiar grooves
And habits long established
Of comfort and care
Like curling up close by your chair
While you rest your hand on my hair
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