Doorstep, His Ashtray Poem by Arthur H Rowley

I've spent a lot of time missing your home recently
and all the ways in which it becomes you
or rather you became it
considering it was there to welcome you into this world
of all the intricacies and simplicities it holds

what I miss most is all that can live beyond it
you are the pea plant in your mother's garden
our friendship was its flowers that became a feast
only to be dried and reburied, ever becoming something new

I consider myself like you consider the cigarette you are rolling
it's as though
I can only care for a body in this state for so long
before I have to start burning it down
a price I'll pay
for you to breathe me out
into the crisp night air
where I will settle, for a while
amongst your mother's garden
and pray for the wind to still
so I can stay there