Familiarity has no longer become a bad thing
As I tippy tip tip toe through the wooden floors
Living between the boards, my spirit there
When I cannot be because my clothes rest
In the closet and my toothbrush is on the sink I no longer have to worry about packing up and going home as often as I used to.
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Vagabond with a home, traveler of beds.
No longer needs to walk along the train-- Tracks.
Like the ones left in the snow all winter.
In foreign sheets that would never be mine
At the precipice of track marks on my arm
The cold never made me feel so lonely.
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As I creep through the blankets
And into your heart as the coffee drips into the pot while our eyes are barely open.
I feel the sun defrost my fingertips.
Sand between my toes, I float in the space between your neck and shoulder,
the most content little creature.
Hidden behind a curtain of hair.
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Cigarettes and alcohol never felt so
Complementary instead of an unsteady necessity.
My hands no longer shake at the possibility of a profound feeling.
I have found my place in the cracks and lines
Along the clothesline, hung out in the sunshine.
I know I am home as much as I can be at any point.
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