Your Face is Home by Lucy A E Ward
Marred, scarred and strange,
too old for romance,
too young for the grave:
your face is home.
The roads of decades,
etched with topography,
a hanging sepia atlas:
your face is home.
Curtains quiver
and luggage is thrown
with each new emotion:
your face is home.
Wisp-topped and speckled,
harvested by hot days,
furrowed by adventure
and invention:
your face is home.