Welcome Home

On Friday night
I stood 1 inch taller than you in my
stappy heels, in my coral red dress.
The glowing Jesus Lives sign beamed
just below our feet as we gazed over
the buildings, the pulsing lights in the hills.
We stumbled our way to a gay club-
the one with the candy music.
What was his name? Antonio?
Glasses clinking, feet pacing,
we giggled over pets and slaves.
You brushed your hair back
and your shampoo smelled like home.
Exhausted, we left in a black car all the way home.
You fell asleep on the sofa,
but I woke up next to you somehow.

On Saturday
we woke up only to kiss, to eat,
and to satiate the hunger between our legs.
I ventured off to the corner market for
headache medicine and sparkling water.
When I came back, you perched your
body on the bed, crinkled your nose and
dimpled your cheeks.
The medicine worked and you felt better.
I couldn’t help but fall asleep next to you
one more time, even though it was
100 degrees outside.
Around 6 pm we finally stirred from
our lazy daze to brush make up on our faces.
I wore pink eye shadow for once.
You were quiet and pensive,
tangled in nerves about meeting my big brother.
I couldn’t help but smile.
Somewhere within the next two hours
we found ourselves in a warm backyard
with a live band at a retirement party.
I’ve always loved how you got along
with my family.
My brother loved you, despite the mania.
You drove me to a night club
and you looked stunning.
We spent the night spinning and stepping
to the kind of music that always brings
me back to you.
I would be perfectly happy watching you dance
for the rest of my life.

On Sunday
we struggled to peel our eyes open.
I must have kissed you one thousand times.
The sun followed us to Hollywood
to a small remodeled home where they served
us fresh banana bread and coffee.
You wanted me to feel that I was
having breakfast in a home because
it was Father’s Day.
I didn’t want to cry in front of you-
but it was just like my childhood dreams.
(thank you)
We didn’t want to go back home, so
we decided to visit a museum of death.
I held your hand when I felt scared
and I wondered how you were so composed.
I admired the look on your face
when we came upon the medical equipment.
Even the smallest splashes of passion
that explode on your face bring me joy.
We had nearly forgotten that we had
advertised for pets and slaves, so
we spent another few hours thumbing through
nonsensical replies, pictures of men in heels,
and video made just for us.
We laughed and hollered in amusement.
A warm, glittery bathtub called out to us.
We slipped in like mermaids.
At the end, our cheeks were sore
from smiling so much.
You wanted to watch a movie,
I wanted to kiss you in the dark in rows of seats
like two teenagers in love.
So we went and wept like children
at the end of the film.
Finally, you pulled up to my driveway to say goodnight.
This felt like old times.
This felt right.
This felt like something my heart had been
missing for a long, long time.
And as we pressed our lips goodnight,
I could finally breathe again.
You were back home.

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