untitled 101210 (and i think when i stop)

and i think when i stop missing my
sneakers and i land somewhere
i used to call home- i will miss
you most when i hear someone-
no, anyone, no someone-
say, “you don’t know”. my belly
will sink to my sneakers and my
mind will seek your face- your
eyes lined black, bright in the
morning and smiling back like
you love me. my hands will be
cold all winter and i’ll tell people,
“cold hands, warm heart” and
momentarily forget where i am
because i’ll want to be with you.
i left home behind me so many
times before but always my heart
came with. home’s a long way
from where i’ll be tomorrow. if
home is where my heart is then
it is in the crease in your bed
where two twins make a queen-
the place i slept when i loved you
most, when your skin was like
earth and i dug caves in it
while we slept. the cherry tomato
bruise on your neck that
betrayed my preferred affections.
the bed that had space for
a mountain and a valley lake
against it. we watched hobbits
and goats and serious men from
there, laughing and fucking quiet
enough to keep her from waking up.

(i am scrambling
to compile the
things i know
time will
have me
forget.)