lying on my back in the warmth of too early southern california morning
in a too empty bed that smells like memories
breathing slowly as I watch the moonbeams shine through the blinds
beams of light jittering slightly on the ceiling
and all that is missing from this moment
is the familiar purr of my cat in the corner
and the feeling of another's heartbeat under my chest
why do I crave domesticity the way I do?
is it because I come from a broken home
and desperately seek that which I never had?
is it because I watched too many movies
and read too many fairy tales?
or was i simply always meant to be this way
craving simple touches and the sound of your breathing
the way some people crave gin and cigarettes