i want to see my things next to yours.
cluttering the bathroom counter,
on the hooks by the door.
our thoughts intertwined.
our books on the bedside table.
our clothes on the line,
or the tangled tv cables.
the mess that is my things next to yours;
whispered late night banter,
and the stubborn fear of the storm.
two minds understood,
in a ruined land,
found a soft place to hide
for souls scarred by red hands.
we’ll tidy up my things and yours.
the dirt next to the planter,
and the overflowing drawer.
our hearts aligned.
our shelving built stable.
cleaning up the mess,
like our things on the table.
