Houses

From my Old Poems collection

Elle Beau ❇︎
Apr 23, 2020 · 1 min read
Photo by Tom Thain on Unsplash

I live in songs and sad hotels
Of darkened mirror image eyes
And all I lose and all I keep
Are not enough to fill the skies

I pass the houses, “Which are homes?”
My numbing walking mind inquires
I tried to build a home for us
Of sparkling glass and gilded spires

Alas, the glass it fell away
The golden spires, they crumbled too
And I was left with empty hours
Nothing left of what was you

A revelation comes to me
A faint, persistent, humming drone
You were seeking just a rest stop
But I was looking for a home!

© Copyright, Elle Beau 2020
Elle Beau writes on Medium about sex, life, relationships, society, anthropology, spirituality, and love.

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Elle Beau ❇︎

Written by

Dispelling cultural myths with research-driven stories. My favorite word is “specious.” Not fragile like a flower; fragile like a bomb! Twitter @ElleBeau

Sensual: An Erotic Life

A sex-positive community for exploring and sharing.

Elle Beau ❇︎

Written by

Dispelling cultural myths with research-driven stories. My favorite word is “specious.” Not fragile like a flower; fragile like a bomb! Twitter @ElleBeau

Sensual: An Erotic Life

A sex-positive community for exploring and sharing.

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