I'd like to go home to
lemon sunrise and blueberry sky
and
pomegranate sunset and tangerine moon
I'd like to go home to
sitting on the porch,
lemonade in tall glasses,
as we discussed literature
and the universe
and love
and philosophy
I'd like to go home to
reading Hemingway long into the night
and falling asleep to Mozart
You said you'd marry me,
and we'd go to Paris and Vienna –
though I'm sure you've forgotten that
and the scarlet flower
you once tucked behind my ear
and the fireflies
and stars
and secrets
I'd like to go home to
you
but I know you won't be waiting for me
You wouldn't stay in a town like that,
where there's nothing
but you
who walked so far and never stopped
and grew out of your simple-minded youth so much
sooner than I
and stopped thinking life was so uncomplicated
while long after I still cling to silly dreams
of home.