Be like Home

And when you walk away,
when the doors to your arms
are no longer open,
where do I go
to wander the thoughts
that keep me warm and snug?

There are parts of you
that twist the thermostat,
activating this warmth.

And when you walk away,
where does the mail go
addressed with the stamp of your lips,
a place I call home?

Will it be delivered elsewhere,
leaving me forlorn?

When the doors to your arms
are no longer open,
where do I go
to wander the thoughts
that keep me warm and snug?