It starts slowly

Like a song in a funeral

Surprising but then not

it fills your ears

fingertips - with thousand needles

and your lips are made of just one word:

need

I need you, want you, crave you

Your colors and body heat and smooth skin

and everything you can give me

maybe even more.

It builds like a crescendo,

Horns roaring, violins screeching

everytime you touch me.

She told him to go

        go go go

But he could not

There was too much to do

fill the void, share her pain

but he didn't know of the guilt

       guilt guilt guilt 

she carried inside

everytime 

she looked at him 

for he was not the man

she saw.

I thought

Now I know

Home is not made of roofs

Or blue-painted walls

Or beds and wooden doors.

It is made of you 

And me.