Hungry Dreams

Our faces still hot from the furnace
we piled under the cool sheets of your bed.
We shivered, shoulder to shoulder, as the icy layers stretched over us.
“Don’t forget to make your wish,” I heard you whisper,
just like every night before.
And I didn’t forget
And I couldn’t forget
Looking all around us
at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling,
reminding us of all the friends that had visited,
the past memories, dreams and wishes.
Everything else was pitch black.
I made my wish and took in the scent of dust, logs,
old wooden clocks, and familiar woven rugs.
I tried not to breathe out too hard, so not to wake you.
My stomach kept me company in the silence,
with its heavy growl.
You stirred and began laughing, and I laughed too.
Because it was so hard not to.
The bed shook with our cackling.
And I hated how my stomach and I were keeping you up past your bedtime,
But I couldn’t make it stop.
And every time my stomach vibrated the bed with its gurgle,
you laughed like you would never stop.
And that night, even though the room was filled
with only stars and thick, dusty air,
I felt the warmth of your smile rock me to sleep.