We lie on a mattress in a dim basement
Light from the fireplace and a single bare bulb
There’s whiskey in glasses sitting on a milk crate
And two beat-up lawn chairs nearby.
There’s a movie playing against the wall
The hum from the projector’s fan behind us
Images dancing over our skin as we moved
Dust swirling in the darkened space.
And as we lay together with beads of sweat forming,
You talked about what you’d do with this room
About the corner you’d build just for me
So I could curl up and read while you worked.
We laughed and planned out this house together
The garden in the back, paint colors for the hall
Talked about making breakfast on each other’s birthdays
And where we’d put the Christmas tree.
And on that first weekend, we danced in every room
Made love between boxes, on floors and counters
Making sure we claimed each place as ours
And knowing we’d laugh at the memories.
I don’t laugh at the memories.
I just think about that house. Your house.
My heart still calls it ours.
I chose the paint for that living room,
Bought the mugs in those kitchen cabinets.
And the curtains hanging in your bedroom
Were to block the morning light at my request.
I helped build the fence around that backyard
And I planted the flowers by those front steps.
I talked you into moving your couch
And helped you pick out that coffee table.
I wonder whether you think of me.
When you decide where to put up your Christmas tree.
When you look at the kitchen counter you lifted me onto.
When you see those flowers bloom.
When you work in the basement by the light of that bulb.
I wonder whether you ever think of your house as ours.