A mostly eaten chocolate cake

Wafts minds melting sweetness,

My way.

An empty kitchen is a sad thing, meant for mourning.

I bought a silver table,

Counter height,

You know.

So we could make a sacred circle

Around it.

This morning I cleaned off circles of sticky booze

And smears of frosting from it.

Name tags were useful and I am still unused

To being loved like this.

They talk about the moment,

The one when the silence is so loud, you look up and realize that you’re finally home.

That the new apartment walls, the plants, the carefully arranged books and knic knacks, the scorched pots,

They look at you and tell you you’re Home.

I was always ready to “go home”, even while sitting alone on my couch.

I think I was waiting for this moment.

For the small whisper to get a little louder,

For me to take a chair and sit with my silence intentionally,

And for the sweet, shaky truth,

To hold my hand.

How could I not know when I have been talking to you, thinking of you, and dreaming of since we were both just stars?

I have imagined me and you,

And I’ll continue to,

Long after this home is gone. Faux wood floors broken away to the new grass beneath.

Home asks me to sit with truth so that I may rest more easily.

Home leads me to sweet moments in time, my head on your shoulder, fresh sheets, strawberries.

Thank you for what you did give me,

And thank you for what you can’t.

The coffee pot needs cleaning,

The floor needs to be swept.



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