It’s getting scary. I’m falling in love.
Can’t wait to come home. Breathe her air. See her lights. Hear her streets. Feel. Tranquil balance.
Her curtains glow at me, her arms curve and want to hold me.
Her chair – a door to space.
Her floor – a walk on Mars but I don’t care.
Her wooden bench – a night in the park.
Her windows shimmer and sing. They can’t be closed but I don’t care. Let rains crash through them and sleep with me on the Martian floor.
Her rooms sing pastel lullabies. Her paintings soothe and smile.
Her gardens wink at me. Flowers and teas.
Behind them – a New York brick wall. A beacon glints through its red bones. Just a bathroom window but I don’t care.
Her toilet pan is cracked. It bites me every time I pee but I don’t care.
I sleep below the beacon and breathe in garden teas. I dream of her porch. Full of candles, tarator and nightly laughter.
It’s getting scary. I am. In love with a house.
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