There is a house,
filled with autumn air,
the sound of ruffling pages,
and water boiling.
It smells of cardamon,
cinnamon, and fresh bread.
I have never been there but I
have walked its halls in my dreams.
It is heaven.
Laundry, taxes, and yard-work.
I don’t desire perfection.
Just you.
In that house.
eidolon poetry 