I bring my empty mug

I bring my empty mug to the kitchen sink. Through the dining room where Vaughn is eating raisins and cranberries and coloring with crayons of those same colors—purples, maroons, a deep crackling red. Soft beige light reflecting off the neighbor's vinyl siding and shining in through the north-side windows over the kitchen sink where KC is washing a plate or peeling a food. I stop beside her. She is focused on the task in hand, or more likely exhausted from baby-interrupted sleep. The whale clock ticks on the window sill. Full-nostrilled clementine smell as I lean in to kiss the Manneristic curve of the left side of her neck.