Love feels like coming home
But I've found homes in many people
Every home I make is different, fit to hold the looks and laughs between us
Love is like taking a hot shower when the cold has seeped in from all of the cracks in your broken armor
After feeling like a dog licking at empty water dishes it's like realizing you have thumbs to turn on the faucet
It cannot be fit in a poem
People are not lists or metaphors but shelves of novels, walls full of paintings, flaws and idiosyncrasies.
Love is warm blood, messy mad hearts, and wild wolf loyalty.
It's faltering footsteps and tears after the moon has risen.
It's campfire pops and crackles, twisted bed sheets, and moments intertwined like fingers
Love isn't finding your way through a hurricane or boots stomping through a garden.
Love is like coming home.

So many, many people work so hard to buy it all
I'm still waiting for the day I see a hearse followed by a Uhaul.

Night and day melt in
A cycle of paradoxical yin
And yang
Up is down,
Sideways is wrong
And stopping is the fear of
Speed
The struggle is the
Map when searching for a
Key that you didn't want
to Need.

I flew
on the wind of an uttered name
and fell to earth
gripping strands of hair
caught before I hit the ground
I floated
on a silver sea of years
that sings all the songs I know
making me forget the words
humming the tune
I dove
beneath a surface calm as glass
hiding burning currents
pulling me down to the sand
that made the surface crystal clear
I rested
on the bottom
holding your hand