Home isn't always brick and mortar,
It's the way your eyes crinkle when you smile,
The familiar rhythm of your steady breathing,
And the space between your fingers
where I slide mine.
I see us,
Dancing in kitchens we are yet to build,
Smiling at happy moments still to come,
As our story engraves deeper
Into our laughter lines.
Fifty short years from now,
Is already written in the lines of our palms,
We will be thinning out silver-haired,
Still laughing and growing old,
Sitting by the fire in our armchairs
Side by side.
©️Lizzie Bevis