Home
Your eyes are like honey, and I am a fly,
Trapped in the sticky, sweet mess
Your lips are like water on the hottest summer day,
And I can't stop drinking even long enough to catch my breath
And your breath against my neck sends shivers down my spine
Your hands tap the rhythm of a hundred rainy nights spent beneath a tin roof
Your existence is music to my ears,
Tuned to the perfect frequency to reach me
I reach out, eager to express my love, only to discover all the words have been stolen
And the stars aren't fixed in the sky,
But they're sure as hell not as broken as my mind
Or my ability to play nice
Or say what I mean
We look up in wonder of the vastness of it all
"How did we get here?" I ask.
"Where's here?"
Then we laugh and we can't stop and suddenly the ground shoots up to meet us
We're on the dewy grass, rolling in the moonlight
Reaching wildly for an ounce of recognition, a single modicum of validation
We seek in each other what we couldn't find for ourselves:
A place like this,
"Home."
Posted Apr 4, 2020, 8:08 AM UTC
Wow, I don’t know why I love this but it strikes at the ethos of the concept of “home.” You have captured the feeling that I get from the place that I visualize as my future home.
I don’t know if I would change anything, I loved it...
How does the poem strike at that concept or home? Just try to expand on that area