Like Only Home Can Feel

I used to rummage and scour, dig crater like holes, all in high hopes. Kicked up moon dust brighter than the sun, red paint on my hands like a surgeon smearing parts, legs ajar. Fingers crossed, intently decided on understanding you. I used to want to crawl up beside you, burrow myself a permanent, pressed securely next to you. And for a woman who sees so little, I was becoming adept to the art that is you. Held against your ribcage, nuzzled safe, like only home can feel. I listened earnestly. Heard Hendrix and jazz mad sorts of eclectic jams, words, wars and wisdom. Delighted to be webbed in your abysmal labyrinth, thought our mass countered one another; I used think you mattered.