Home is a feeling in your gut, one where
you anticipate departure with widening eyes like
a found runaway labrador all wet with rain.
Home is a kettle on the stove, shouting and
whistling and making all sorts of noise and dripping
clocks ticking that scream louder.
Home is a slow steady ache,
an entranced prayer,
a feeling I buried in you.
A/N:Credits: Melissa Etheridge's Breathe for the "feeling I buried in you" part and the (weird) instructional words in the oboe part for Carter Pann's Hold this Boy and Listen.