Home (a poem)

Home 08/07/18

They say “home is where the heart is” and where the heart is, is fragmented between your bed sheets, lingering in your musk and over the surface of your skin. 

Home is where the ticking of your watch interrupts my thoughts and the distant sound of guitar from the other room you sit in as I sit on this velvet couch warms my ears.

Home is in the broken sound from the projected films on your walls that confuse my ears. Projected on the wall across from the wall stained in the memory of paintbrushes and sea sponges from that time we played practice artists for our future selves. Who will paint blue the wall already stained in blue paint my name and other textures and strokes of brushes we tested. 

Home is in the wood grained furniture filling the space littered with plants. Organised with blue ray with vinyls with books on psychology and healthy relationships and wine. 

Home is in the bed, too low to the ground for my liking dressed with the uncomfortable pillows I wish to replace with my own. Where I lay, your presence tangled in mine between the sheets where every inch of my body is picked apart by pleasure where I am almost but never enough satisfied by your touch.

Home is the atmosphere I find myself in every night I shouldn’t; nights where the smooth taste of chai tingles my taste buds, where the needles scratch those black discs producing those sounds. Those sounds that we feel more than we hear, those sounds that we connect over, those sounds that make us music lovers and lovers who love in music.

Home is where we choose the spacious, shower over the cramped en suite. Where water runs between the tiled and transparent walls, our laughter echoing between the running water that melts through our skin as we wash away the day and connect in each others company through this simple everyday task and “shower together it saves water” becomes our daily routine. 

This home is where my heart is. This home I share with you. We may only be in bloom of our time together, in the beginnings of the memorises we will share within the walls of this home. But I know these are memories that will grow. 

Bri