Where I step out of my skin and my soul rests and feeds.
Where the bath faucet runs paint of every color.
The walls are made of speakers that pour music into the airs stillness.
The Ceiling is woven with words of poetry
The fridge is full of the blood and body of Christ.
Where my bed is his chest.
The lock on the doors are his arms wrapped around me fingers gripping my waste tight like a seatbelt for security.
The blinds are his lips blocking out the rest of the world every time they meet mine yet the drapes are his kisses because they still let the sunlight rest itself upon our romance.
Where the central air is love. We breathe it in every second.
Heartbeats pumping it through our bodies making it become a part of us.
Where the tv’s are dancers, breathing our love as our walls sing.
There’s red paint overflowing the tub.
We’ve left it on too long too distracted and captured by the beauty of the tv’s movement.
The ceiling catches fire, poetry burned to dust because dance speaks it’s own language that words could never express but no matter the native dialect every human can comprehend.
Where Mother Earth sings a warm breeze onto my patio.
And when night rises she screams in silence so I can focus on my muse.
Where my existence is comfortable.
Where my soul is serenity.
Where my heart is expressed through the universal language of art.
I have to find home. Todo & I have gone too far.