This was inspired by a prompt from Irene’s class on “your house”, where is it, what’s it made of and what you call home.


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My house is my body, the shrine to my divine,
I resign from night-shine and re-enter real-time,

I sense, I feel, I smell and I know,
The journey ended, a new day bestowed.
 
How does this miracle work every day?
I die every night and survive the decay.

How does the thought to move any limb
Happen again and again with such perfection?

How does the smell of my childhood lotion?
Puncture me back to that exact emotion?

See my thoughts racin, with no finish line,
Deep breaths erasin, this horse’s stride,

I’m back to where I always want to be,
My home, my body, now and eternally? 
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