Ruling out indictment

Now that I also cook
(even if only limp linguini),
wash sullen dishes
while you dry,
wiping away teary streaks
steamy, dripping china clean,
permit me
to lay down one condition,
a single setting
of this our equal pact.
When you and I,
buzzing here, there, in
out, ever spinning wild
days away
alone,
finally land unchipped,
still dizzy from the whirling,
home,
let us press together
like droplets on that moist bowl
not letting life's careening
wipe away
such tenderness as does your towel
one final bead,
itself clinging precariously
to the lip
of our tenuous dish.

Timothy Pilgrim