Can My House Be Your Home?

I know you call her home, but tell me, is she where your hands live or your heart?

Do the constellations littering your irises mirror hers or is it your mouth mirroring the freckles of her skin?

Is it her words that make your skin crawl towards hers or her fingers that raise the feathery down from the back of your neck?

Is she the oxygen that your lungs pull to feed your heart or the adrenaline that pushes it to work in overdrive?

Is she the breath or what makes your breath catch?

Is she the pen on the paper or the words that begged to be released?

Is she the cathedral or the prayer?

The incantation or the spell the words cast?

Is she the sky that holds the light or the stars themselves, always there even when they can’t be seen?

The match that kickstarts the destruction or the already blazing fire?

Is she the caress or the feeling that lingers after it’s over?

The skin or the mind?

The magnetic pull or the place where you stand?

The speed or the lull?

Or is it both?

Is there really any difference to you?

And one last question.

Is it me or am I her?