no one wins domestic wars

1-26-14_2
Oakland Jan14

His words struck softly against my skin,
This is where I took the architect.
After being dropped off at the top of the hill,
I tasted metal as his grey truck accelerated back to his real life.

When I got home, you danced for me
after presenting a 15-week plan for our future;
I noticed there was no time scheduled for compromises.

This is when I knew I had found the good side of a habit.

After reading your poem, written the moment when I asked him for his middle name,
I cried. I remembered that day the elevator stopped working and how long it was broken.

Beneath these domestic ceremonies,
minivans crush dry leaves into the dust we wipe off our TV.

1-26-14_1
Oakland, Jan14

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