The click of a lighter
I guess when you hear the sound enough
As a little girl
You connect it to your daddy
Especially when you have daddy issues
That aren't as predominant as your mommy issues.
But that's okay.
The sound of weeping is a broken kind of home for me too.
When I took up smoking,
I thought of my daddy
Every time I lit the power between my fingers
And I smiled.
Would he be proud of his gay daughter?

The smell of *****
Most people cannot smell it
But to me it smells like bleach and dish liquid
The smell that lived in
My father's house.
And maybe that isn't the liqueur.
It could be the taste of her lips
That still lingers from that Monday which seems decades away.
It's been two weeks.
I like to taste *****, just like I love to smell it.
It is a home to me.
And that's all I'm really looking for.