She Is Home

I've learned all too well not to make homes out of people.
Not to let someone else's eyes
become the windows I begin to see my world through.
Not to let her smile become the inviting hearth
where I ache to return
after an exhausting day at work.
I simply cannot let that small area right below her shoulder
become a pillow
on my bed that is her body.
Her lips can't become my coffee pot-
the very thing that breathes life into me
and the first thing I want to wake up to
when it's 6 am and I cannot think straight.
Reassuring and entirely enveloping-
I've learned not to turn the attention she gives me
into my warm bath.
Because when she leaves- and she will always leave-
the void that takes her place
will be filled with an emptiness so vast
that there is nowhere left to hide
from myself.