An iron-barred
plant-laden window,
guarded by the Buddha,
gating out the world.
Cold sunlight
on warm wooden floors
scratched up by a table
built for building a community
together.
Teacups.
Boardgames.
Blankets from your sister.
Books.
So many books
color coded and marked up,
separating you from me and here from
there
and
A couch you hated, and
the art.
Bay windows and
the bedroom walls
soaked with words
from whispered conversations
that drew us
deep
into the night and
into each other.
I didn’t realize it,
when we first moved in.
I swear,
It didn’t look like a battleground.