Wish I were…
home where I belong
by the wood chopping pile
snapping peas, starring at the sunshine
through the flowered sheets whose
shadows play upon the grass,
somersaulting in the sun
while the breeze blows through them
letting me smell my hard work.
I sit on the porch laughing at the
setting sun while whispering shadows
intertwine with your beard.
And we rock our hands together, squeezed tight,
as the stars release our daytime thoughts.
To each other we talk about all the things to come
but always end our distant ramblings with
the solid promise that we’ll always come back here, wherever we are, we’ll find our way
back here.
And after your number’s called, with bags packed
you hold me there on the porch
and as the freedom on your face grazes mine
I stand there staring at the flowered sheets
somersaulting in the wind,
their sweetness burned into me.
J. Zarlenga
(via Swanksalot)