holding my lungs in your hands

summer's not enough
i want
to come home and lie
on your breasts with his hands
in my hair
i want
to come home and kiss
sugary sweet peach juice
from your chin
from that first bite
they keep telling me
'home is where your pile of shit is'
but home
is where my head rests
in dreams of quicksand
upon your shoulders
upon your breath