how to break the ice after a fight

Since we have enough silence to build
a museum or a public library, can I speak
of our close(d)ness now? What about
the static of midnight television,
the closing of doors, that wordless
goodnight, that (eve/mor)ning snore?

Yes, we are allowed so much hurt
but I can only permit this much.
What we always know of lea(r)ning
(on/from) each other we discover
by not doing so. Our wind chimes
tell us this: there is weariness in inertia.

So this time I try to speak your idioms.
So this time I try to follow your nods.
And this perfume (f)licking the air
between us? Just rub it generously
on your pulse. I can tell if it is worthy of days
when only my skin’s musk invades me.

We know it is too (early/late) to tell
if the (ab/pre)sences we fill those days with
benefit our better judgments. There will
always be afternoons that never stop waiting,
always ahead of us. Like habits of desire,
vivid and steel-sharp.

But this is what I am grateful for:
at least we never get to the point
of breaking the (d/w)ishes,
the precious porcelain (c/v)ows
we have received on our wedding last June.
So tonight, in bed sweating, we both (g)listen.