Heirloom
you are like a quilt
some sort of patchwork
taking every good part
of those who held my love before
and the tiny little stitches
which make you seamless
also bind me to you
where i burrow in yr warmth.
i am like a bedframe
strong in my hollowness
and creaky with the unerasable memories
of those who have faded
into notches on my posts
but you could stay with me
knowing me by the scent
of weathered mahogany.
our love is like a matress
providing rest for our worn muscles
while being so externally generic
because comfortable is unillustratable
that is, how does one draw that
this is the only place we can sleep, held;
or when floods come and destroy us both
that this love will be our rescue.