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Part of the Series: Poetry of Life, Death & the In-between

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with fantasies we play house in our hearts

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This entry is part 47 of 45 in the series Poetry of Life, Death & the In-between

When you broke into the home of me 

I said “I love you” and gave you the key 

Later you thought to return it 

as shards were cutting our feet

Return?! You did not see

It secured to your heart as roots of a tree.

Though now our feet have traversed

through many miles & spaces & lives

& our hearts have grown, are submersed

in a couple or four loves (or five?)

Those wounds now healed, with callouses grown. . .

Yet I think you still own the key to my home.

Those shards of glass knives

That sliced us apart

I swept into a furnace

Aflame in my heart

Once molten I shaped them

into fanciful art

Now hung on the walls

(mingling sweet with the tart)

of spaces held secret,

where memories restart.

Is there a chance

You’d ever unearth that key?

Do you even desire

To wander the halls of me?

I wish you would find it

Re-enter this door

Make me your home

and more. . .

Would you run through your night

Lock us inside

Together we’d hide

In the rooms of our minds

Together we’d hang

New art we would form

Together we’d wake

To a fresh beautiful morn.

Come, a new key we’ll cut

Find fantasies fresh

Build a shared house

for hearts long enmeshed.

Originally published April 18, 2022 | extensive rewrite August 14, 2025

    Poetry of Life, Death & the In-between

    Desired Voyeur

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