Home was my head nesting in the crook of your shoulder, protected by the curve of your arm
my finger running up and down the silky skin of your brown, muscular thigh
the touch of my lips on your neck, the sound of my whisper in your ear
your tongue easing my lips apart, our breathe mingling
while the sweet warmth of my cunt held you tight
a perfect fit.
Home was the weight of my worry and the shadows under your eyes.
Home was the rough stubble on your chin gently scraping my cheek
your hands caressing my curly, wild hair
the shower running in the morning, the coffee cup on the nightstand
and the notes we passed back and forth to each other under our pillows.
Home was the paired beauty of my strength and insecurity, your fear and tenacity.
Home was your scent, a mixture of chlorine and aftershave filling up the dresser drawer
my purple slippers tossed carelessly atop your loafers
your back snuggled against my belly, my arm thrown over your shoulder.
Home was watching you repair the cracks in the china teapot and wondering if it would ever be the same.
Home was the sun warming the deck as we sat watching the apple tree blossoms drift away from the green branches and fall reluctantly to the grass below.
Home was lost in a startling split second
made up of a million and one moments
of dread and despair that
had come before
had slipped in the back door, quietly, desperately, yet remained purposely ignored
until home was gone.