Love Is Familiar

When my toes press against the grass
that holds tightly to the roots of some
different place, some home that is not
here--I will be there.
.
And when my eyes crush against a sky
bluer than the one that hovers ominously
over the states we call "united" and mean
"unholy" and clouds bounce off my forehead
kiss me chastely on the cheek--I will be there.
.
Tomorrow I'll pack you in purple suitcases,
print you out of my computer and promise
to only write you by hand in notebooks even
when it hurts my fingers, and you will be my
forever poem, the secret I swear not to tell
anyone but my heart and my eyes--and when
you're scrawled across states, countries, skin
so that I'm completely covered in something
.
that has become more than home so that
no matter where I go you will shelter
my loneliness with familiarity that can only
and forever be called love--I will be there.
.
So now you look up and realize we've woken
up, barefoot, sprawled across a cold, hard floor
with a kazoo in your mouth and a pen in my hand
and we've become something more than silly, and
smitten--we'll know then, where we are.