Love feels like coming home
But I've found homes in many people
Every home I make is different, fit to hold the looks and laughs between us
Love is like taking a hot shower when the cold has seeped in from all of the cracks in your broken armor
After feeling like a dog licking at empty water dishes it's like realizing you have thumbs to turn on the faucet
It cannot be fit in a poem
People are not lists or metaphors but shelves of novels, walls full of paintings, flaws and idiosyncrasies.
Love is warm blood, messy mad hearts, and wild wolf loyalty.
It's faltering footsteps and tears after the moon has risen.
It's campfire pops and crackles, twisted bed sheets, and moments intertwined like fingers
Love isn't finding your way through a hurricane or boots stomping through a garden.
Love is like coming home.