the house where we live

There is a cobblestone path in the forests behind,

winding its way through the trees the same way you twist cherry stems between your fingers in the summertime,

and the walls are brick since you refused to live in anything more feeble than our own hearts and I smiled when you said it because I knew in fact that even brick could not compare to the strength in your chest,

and there is art on every wall and we keep saying we need to stop but we let our eyes wander through galleries and like children in need of candy we cannot bear to come home empty handed,

and we can be found on the couch in the living room, legs intertwined like the vines in our garden, our skin bathed in shades of gold from the sunshine, laughter ringing out through every room and corridor and I,

I do not know if we end up here but god I hope we do.