How I used to long to be <br />walking along the hardwood floors. <br />A mattress, <br />naked of sheets, <br />pushed back against the back wall of your bedroom <br /> <br />An open hallway with <br />the living room off to the right <br />and on the left, the bathroom <br />in its green and white <br />linoleum splendor. <br /> <br />On the far wall, <br />to the right, <br />behind the torn <br />worn <br />forlorn blue upholstered couch <br /> <br />a cascade waterfall <br />coming from the ceiling <br />of CD cases and old albums; <br />Double dynamite <br />Elvis never looked so alive. <br /> <br />Around the corner <br />the kitchen, <br />where I'd make you pancakes <br />or french toast, <br />The choice is yours, darling. <br /> <br />And then the front door, <br />the place I hoped to never exit. <br />The place I longed to walk through <br />from out in the cold of reality <br />into warmth <br />and into my positive reinforcement. <br /> <br />The place where I could really feel beautiful <br />in nothing but a navy button-down shirt.<br /><br />Erica Francis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/how-i-imagined-your-apartment/
