You gave me ten seconds to tell you everything,

But it’s all the things I can’t say

That sit heavy on my mind

When I come home to dirty dishes,

Twitching lights

And creased sheets that remind me of you.

And sometimes I think that’s what home is:

Unwashed paint brushes

And forgetting to say goodnight;

Half drank coffee on the table

Left from my date with the sunrise.

But when I think about having you next to me,

While I admire the ink on your arms 

And you admire the ink on my page,

Then, and only then does the routine feel worth while.

The dishes don’t need cleaning,

The bed doesn’t need making

And the bulbs don’t need changing,

Because our light is enough to light the street.

And I don’t need coffee to wake me if I have your lips.

And nothing else is worth having,

Because you make a house a home.