Home I can see you in that city. You are that entire city for me. I can see you crossing your wet street, the lights from the Hotel Commodore turning your skin red. People actually live in interesting places, but that's not for me. I rather like writhing in my bed and pretending that you're sleeping behind me. I'm never tricked. And while you're crossing the street to buy liquor from that store owned by dusty old men, I'm in my suburban box rubbing my legs together furious like a cricket to stay warm and to bring you home. I've truly never wanted something so badly. Just presence. And I wonder about March, what I'll wear, how I want to step off the plane and appear to you for the first time in white. If I had my way, I would never get back on another plane, but you said that you would resent me if I came to stay for good. I haven't forgotten that. The next day a phone call while I am buying a small bottle of bourbon. You say small words my heart won't hear. My secrets shrink back inside. I can remember every corner of your life. I want you home. I am your home. I want you here. I am here. I want you home. I am your home.