If home is where the heart is,
I must have lost mine among my luggage.
I'm getting used to a city 30 minutes from my first home.
It is as if I am living in a mansion with nothing on display.

The walls are bare.
The walls are where?

You are my metaphorical bed;
you keep me safe and warm.
The physical bed smells like your skin, so I never want to get out of it.
The rest of the house has no evidence of you.

I am familiar with sleep, and ***, and snoring.
Beyond the bed is new territory that I am still figuring out.
Be patient with me.