ikea show room

i believed we could stay there.
live our little three-wall life.
i could bring home the groceries.
get the dinner started while people
passed through our living room
looking for the price tags. 
i am prone to building futures 
too soon & too urgently. 
we would go to ikea in conshohocken after
you got off work & my classes were done.
sometimes we would spend hours there
maybe avoiding the chaos of both
of our homes. my tiny dorm 
& your cacophonous apartment. 
but also looking at lamps.
i did not know that we were pretending.
i thought that when you told me,
"i love this lamp" that you meant,
"one day we will live together
& we will have a place to put this lamp."
i was so lost. once, i actually considered 
trying to take a nap on the show room sofa.
you shook me & laughed, "come on."
bodies between white walls. 
the show room's maze was delightful
until it was not. until you just wanted
a new bowl & a set of spoon & we 
needed to get home. get to sleep.
start the car. walk up your block
with all the trees wrapped in colorful string
trying to crack the pavement
with their beautiful legs. i knew it wouldn't work
but i wanted you to give in for 
just one night. to mean it. to stay over
in the dark of the show room. turn on the faucet
& watch the water pour. the room,
suddenly real from our hungers. the fourth wall
growing & suddenly the space so small. 
a held breath. a racing moon. 
the couch on which i sleep. the window now
looking out at the parking light. 
the yellow signs holy glow
against our skin. i really believed
we could have stayed. maybe 
for a brief moment, you did too.