Sometimes we lock eyes, 
And I see the picket fence.

A stone house with
Too many windows–
Yellow walls, yellow rugs, yellow lights,
Golden accents, golden cutlery, golden mirrors,

A black cat
With a white belly,
Cilantro that bloomed
And turned to coriander,

Cold drinks, cold winters, cold tile,
Hot cocoa, hot concrete, hot heads,

Broken china, and make-up sex,
Eating the last Oreo left, and dinner alone.

Sometimes we can’t lock eyes,
And all I see is home.