the familiarity I abandoned for a foreign entity
bubbles like carbonation at the top of my glass
as I cross my legs over that beer-colored carpet
(it wasn't by accident)
and sip its liquid partner,
burning pleasantly,
like nostalgia
in my belly.
I listen to your voice,
sometimes off-key
but always on
and you strum anxiously
like you're trying
to resuscitate a heart
to its healthy rhythm.
You pick up speed and frequency and,
by god,
I am alive again
in your living room,
living with plenty of room---
comfortable and comforted that
there are things that don't erode by time
(those stains surely don't)

I press my toes in the slight shag
and think
this is my subsitute for a lawn, and
I've found quite a new playground,
your couch is our swingset.
When will we run out
of m o m e n t u m,
and tire of kicking our legs?
It's sunset
and the parents are calling,
we have to go
to our real homes now.
Maybe we'll find out tomorrow
under a new sun
and a new set of rules
to obey or not obey.