In the Home of...?
In an imagined home I see,
Office clutter,
Papers strewn,
Airy windows,
A far off moon,
Hardwood floors,
Appointment reminders,
Phone calls unreturned,
Schedules for trips,
Old bus passes,
Gift receipt slips,
Fur from a hare,
And Master Sir right there,
Waggling his cute little nose in the air,
Comfortable couches,
Shady shaggy rugs,
Fading wallpaper,
Tickets to this,
Passes to that,
So many bits
Of what make it alright,
A bed calls for sleep,
A turned off light.
You are tobacco stained fingers, the scent of cinnamon rolls. Ingenuity at its finest, and ridiculous injuries that couldn't happen to anyone else.
You are the unbelievably crazy, every bit of laughter, you are the undeniably beautiful.
You are my neighbor's annoying dogs, and the sound of crunching gravel.
You are the ridiculous and the necessary. You are glittery pedicures, and malfunctioning fuel pumps. The absurdity I was almost lucky enough to build a life around.
You are chocolate cookies, Christmas mornings and waking up at dawn to demolish the neighbor's house.
You are all that is strange and inspiring, the magnifying glass and the telescope.
You are every beautiful mythological creature I wish I could cage in my apartment, but would never have the heart to lock away.
The beautiful morning glories I was never responsible enough to take care of.