Safe House, Safe House,
all broken boards and fractured windows-
mountain peaks, small hints of dusk shining between the serrated glass.

Equipped with wool blankets, throw pillows, the scent of a lost winter's fireplace,
thinking of thick scarred skin against thick scarred skin,
Interrupted by the comforting echo of a familiar voice, the vibration of the calico kitten's purr.

Discontented yet voluptuously alive,
satisfied with a rest stop and a refuel: a gas station highway hookup on the road to reclusion, a $55/night at the Motel 6.

Presented paperwork for problems at the door, handed Mayberry in a warm cup of tea,
lemon meringue pie, maple bacon...
Remembered fishing out on the back porch on Sunday after church.

Reckless and destroyed slept in the belly, slept in the mouth,
where frozen banana pancakes and inky black coffee was the only breakfast,
but guaranteed the syrup was always warm.