Fairies

There are dust particles floating through the sunlight by the window in your room. You must know, these are not angels or fairies or any other grand imagining. What you see, on this Sunday morning, when it is just warm under a blanket in your grandmother's chair, as you stare and smile and dream of kisses and crosswords while I sleep in your bed, spent, are tiny balls of human skin, animal dander, other people's hair, insect remains, dirt, and bug shit. If only I could sleep forever.