The valley fog settles on we two

The valley fog settles on we two. I go to bed at four and get up at seven and sleep in the afternoon. Every day there's laundry to be done. When it's time to leave I tell you to stay and sleep, but you rise to follow me out. Go back to sleep, I say, I'm going to get a shower. My closet door creaks and outside a garbage truck is backing up but you don't stir until overwhelmed by the dozing coastline of your long back I lay down beside you. Your voice flutters. Is it time? Yesterday's top is crumpled over the guitar standing guard in the corner. My answer is not for you. Go back to sleep, sun, so this blissful fog is not burned away.