There’s a cottage by the sea Built just for you and me; Nothing exists in this world but salt. You're my wristwatch but I've always Been terrible at keeping the time. And I can't stop looking at you like your already gone. the boardwalk lurches Into the dark and there's water on All three sides leaving only one way to go- Back home. Where the old gramophone scratches its dusty tunes under the light of paper lanterns; your eyes were a lighthouse in the fog and your voice: a siren lullaby. “Come home. I’ve put the kettle on.” There’s a city apartment in the rain, And its all that keeps us sane Hail me a taxi home; our lives are two drops in a fishbowl dissolving like watercolors down the drain. Where the percolator pops its drum beat and people are too loud and the streets below are all crowded Forgive me the inkstains I leave on window panes and the paper trail of abandoned poetry your eyes were the diluted shade of an umbrella and your voice: a street corner symphony. “Come home. I’ve put the kettle on.” There’s a cabin in the woods, Knots in the walls that withstood The forest filling up with snow. There’s nowhere else to go: It’s far too dangerous out there. It is lovely, dark and cold But here is where I love you. Here it is warm. With the rug and roaring fireplace and cinnamon chocolate chip cookies. Books pile up in stacks of read and unread The wind whispers but no one is outside. There’s nothing outside; your eyes were a candle burning at midnight and your voice: a fading melody “Come home. I’ve put the kettle on.”
KelleyAnn Elyse, Postcards
