My Home

It tastes like the warmth of sunlight on a summer afternoon,
Heating the plastic seat-cover till it sticks to your bare skin

It sounds like the complex, sweet, brownish red flavor of Dr. Pepper
Or the spicy jolt of chili that’s been slow-cooked right

It looks like the sound of the words which are cut off and elongated
Elegant “ahw”s and swallowed g’s that pour from ranch-hand and professor alike

It smells like the sight of bluebonnets blanketing a hillside
And the practical, stylish, sturdy footwear worn by those who either are or want to be

It feels like the scent of hot butter in a skillet, ready to bake cornbread
And the sweet aroma of juniper and pine as they blanket the floor with their eyelashes

My Home is just as big, more complex, and less stubborn than you think
My Home is spelled with five letters