A couch, an armchair, and an out-of-place futon
Didn’t walk into a bar because, well
Nobody in that room drank—
Not regularly, so instead
We gulped down the noise of a well-used wok and queued up songs
Shrimpless fried rice and sneaked spices
We poured glasses of Folk Blues and Philosopher’s Stones
Sat on countertops and imaginary barstools
Set up shrines to the uncanny
Rearranged furniture until it had all returned
To where it was before
Nothing but comfort came to me there
A feel-good movie ending every night
No matter the sins or ghosts of the day before
So raise a glass of milk in toast, you cursed bastard
Give thanks to shared drafted works
To the fish in the wind and every other phrase
We invented while making toast in the morning
Or rambled out over dinner at midnight
Hugs few and many between, but always with love
This home is all you need.
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