a silent intrusion,
the porchlights of strangers
draw a blurred silhouette of
window and tree branches
on the wall.
the muffled rhythm of someone
snoring, the soundtrack. the sources
unknown, but unimportant.
they make the room full, much like
the sounds of midnight snacks
and cats pushing open doors
and the weight of goose feathers
holding me down, and the warmth
of my back against
feline back.
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