We're Not, But We Could Be

A glowing white house

         tucked beneath the trees

& the too-quiet hallway

         that leads to your door.

Home feels like this, I think—

         sacred, without question.

As if we’ve always lived here.

         As if we built this

together.

         I do silly things now, like daydream

about the honeygreentea scent of your skin,

         or buy plastic toys for your sweet, destructive cat,

& worry, a lot.

         There is a softness here,

but it’s young and doesn’t know

         what it wants to be yet.

It whispers, I am going as slowly as I can.

         It’s never loved, but it’s learning.