Home is not a proper place
has no address, no fixed abode
It may not lay along a certain path
or at the end of any road
For each of us its different
what makes it so we cannot see
For myself I know that I'm not there
whenever you are not with me
My home exists within your hand
when it is wrapped in mine
When our bodies come together
a warm embrace, legs intertwined
Geographically speaking
home can be here, it can be there
but there is no place' feels more like home
than the pillow that we share.
Jul 3, 2011
Jul 3, 2011 at 6:58 AM UTC
Home is not a proper place
has no address, no fixed abode
It may not lay along a certain path
or at the end of any road
For each of us its different
what makes it so we cannot see
For myself I know that I'm not there
whenever you are not with me
My home exists within your hand
when it is wrapped in mine
When our bodies come together
a warm embrace, legs intertwined
Geographically speaking
home can be here, it can be there
but there is no place' feels more like home
than the pillow that we share.
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
Request permission to use this poem