The Yellow Light of Home

the space
in strobe,
fragments the people
only to prove them whole again. And

out for
feels like 

only to resume time
when your hand’s in mine once more.

“Two,” I say,
and my head rolls away 
as I laugh – 

and you pull me in again
to nuzzle your head into my neck 
to brush your fingers along my nape

And I feel more at home
Than I ever have before.

Past times with you are like warm honey under the strobe light of memory 
But in your presence 
The yellow lights don’t flicker –

“I love you”

“I love you too.”


© 2018 Anna Rabinov

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