Dreams and Stumblings

I didn't write as much as I expected in New Orleans. I wrote these two pieces on the car ride back:

Katrina hit New Orleans like an earthquake. You feel the effects, entering and leaving the sunken city. The roads are cracked and bumpy, our van rocks and shudders even now, 40 minutes outside of New Orleans.

The city streets are worse, though they're being slowly repaired.

It's as if a giant boot stomped through New Orleans, kicking houses sideways and crumpling asphalt roads.

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She asks me why I never mention her eyes in my writing. I stop writing. Turn. And quietly, speaking close between our mingled breathes explain that I never see her eyes, I only see those private peculiarities. A collar bone, white from my grasp, drowned in red as she blushes.

I can feel her smile against my cheek.

She's still smiling as I write this. A heavy contented weight, stray hairs tickling my neck, coffee cream breath swimming between my shoulder blades.

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So, in that second piece, should I write "A heavy contented weight", or "a heavy content weight"?

Any other suggestions welcome, of course.