Exterior Thinking, Interior Love

You pull up to my chest in a curve

Your ears press up against my heart

I stare at the ceiling

And there is that moment hanging

Stapled like a party decoration

From when it was first created

The patterns in the paint

The memories in every line of the design

Your hand moves to my face

My eyes follow patched up holes where

The structure has been tested

I shift on the floor, she shifts the same

Do ceilings worry about floods?

Or are they more concerned with hammers and nails?

Their neighbors warned them about those types…

What has the ceiling witnessed that the walls have not?

What has the floor understood that the ceiling did not already know?

What has it absorbed from the way our eyes follow the clothes it wears?

I lean my chin down to press you closer and breathe in.

We both reach up and tack another memory to a string and let it

Hang there until the next time we decide to needlessly question interior design.

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