What is home to me?
Something you can see?
A specific state of mind?
A person, place, or time?
A notion, a fantasy,
Not grounded in reality?
A place to lay my head,
With a nice, cool bed?
A feeling that I lack?
Or one that's coming back?
An emotion all my own,
What it's like to go home.
Or not go, but to be.
To exist, with company?
My home is other people.
Maybe that makes me feeble.
To rely on others so much.
To need their voice and touch.
But not multiple, just one,
And not just anyone.
A life partner, a friend,
Upon whom I can depend.
My home has changed over the years.
Most homes were lost to tears.
People have left, gone away.
I began to think no one would stay.
Then I met a heart so true,
Even though what we have is new.
She gives me comfort, peace of mind,
Feelings I'd all but left behind.
She's not home, not quite yet,
But soon she will be, I bet.
We're growing closer all the time.
About her I can't help but rhyme.
She's not at all what I expected,
When my walls I erected.
She's gotten beyond them so easily.
She sees the real, true me.
Through her I've learned so much,
About sexuality, romanticism, and such.
Evidently I'm demisexual, demiromantic,
And she's asexual, gray-aromantic.
You wouldn't think the two would sync,
But we've developed quite a link.
We love each other alterously.
We try to let the relationship just be.
Without too much pressure or expectations,
Just enjoying the natural sensations.
I fall more in love each day,
In every single possible way.
And while she's not "in love" just yet,
The love she has I could never forget.
I wonder if I'm home to her,
Or what feelings inside her stir,
When we talk, when we touch,
When I say "I miss you so much."
After I make a romantic gesture,
Or write poetry to impress her,
Does she smile, does she glow?
Does she even want to know?
The depth of the love I have for her,
Almost more than I can endure.
Do I scare her when I say,
That she brightens up my day?
Can she possibly understand,
How much I want to hold her hand?
Just for comfort, for protection,
Mixed with love and alterous affection.
But to make her uncomfortable,
To me that would be unthinkable.
Her aromanticism is very different,
Than everyone who's been significant,
In my life, my sense of home,
The things I miss when I'm alone.
The asexuality is less a concern.
For her sexually I don't yet yearn.
My demisexual switch has not flipped.
Hopefully that can be skipped.
Still, I desire things to which she's averse.
My romantic switch I cannot reverse.
Hand holding, kissing, maybe more,
Things deep inside I wish to explore.
And so we grapple with polyamory,
Whether to stick with it is a quandary.
When I'm so geared toward one true love,
Polyamory will never fit like a glove.
I used to think it came natural to me,
But with that I no longer agree.
I can have deep feelings for more,
But only one can I truly adore.
One to follow wherever they roam,
Only one can be my true home.