Moving

‘To build a home’
is our song, and I did -
build you a home.
Your home is in my chest:
my heart is your bedroom.

I hope you never move out,
but if you do,
i’ll cut a house shape out of your clothes,
fabric that smells like the colour gold
and I’ll stitch it on to my front pocket, 
to cover the skin of my fluttering breast.

I’ll decorate it with sparkles and velvet that feels like your cheeks
to satisfy the onlookers,
so that they won’t peer in through the windows
and scream in horror.
Because as soon as you open that door to leave,
there is a string attached to a wrecking ball
ready to fall from the sky of my brain
and demolish every floor of the home
that took so long to build.

The cement has only just dried.
Now watch it float like dust.

(first draft, written in 10 minutes - will be revisited)

2012