I walked into the dorm, and I walked into my home
not home in the sense of Casa Blanca,
not home in the way of DEREK,
not home in the mode of LG-02,
not home as in my mother's kitchen
a home that lacks the weight of memories
that linger in my childhood home,
a home that's not cozy and compact,
and full of tea and wine and
the fruit of Nash's crafting,
as DEREK was.
not the ramshackle glory
of the creaking, haunted Casa Blanca
not the soulless shell of a city apartment
filled with heart by loving friends,
but the comfort of new home,
one that's most surely mine
and not me,
but filled with bodies to love.
One can slip into the backdoor
into the bright and dingy stairwell,
like the warmth of wearing socks to bed.