love language

he undresses my mind first and

takes his time handling my heart

he brings me flowers in the evening

and coffee in the morning

and asks for nothing in return except for

my love.

He doesn’t gift crumbs.

He doesn’t gift silences.

He shows up and opens doors

and looks at me as if he could see

my soul.

His touches are both fire and warmth

and his mouth speaks to me in a different tongue

I’ve always known but never quite

understood before.

He is not from around here

but he’s quickly starting to feel

like home.

destination: love

maybe I’ll never get to see
all the places my feet wish to wander through
maybe the oceans and plains I dream of visiting
will remain a mystery to my eyes
a vision only in my mind
but perhaps his two arms will become my world
and the scent on his neck home
it’s possible that his embrace
can become the safe place
I never thought I’d find again
and that life is enough of an adventure
if lived by his side
with a lot of love
and a side of laughter.



We make our way down the hallway carrying a variety of items in our hands, around our arms, pushing it with our feet. In one instance we’re divided by a full mattress as I lead the way down the long corridor. I look back at him, smiling, only to find a slight frown on his face. In an attempt to change this, I ask him: “Why so grumpy? Do you want to sing a work song?”

I’m excited.

I’m happy.

I feel a song would be appropriate.

 I start singing the theme song to the Smurfs (“la la la la la”) which I find fitting since we’re clearly working like the little blue communists. But I only sing one verse. The cheerful “la la” sounds inappropriate if not joined in by other la la’s.

Before I shun him for not joining in, he starts singing:

“Ehhhhh oh, day-o… daylight come and we wanna go hommmme”

I join him, and as I sing the last word of the song, I drag out the mmmm so I find myself humming as we enter our new place.

And just like that,

I’m home.