If you were an IKEA, I’d like to get lost in you.
The arrows on the floor are of little help;
you try to be precise, but I’m joyfully disoriented
as you lead me through your orderly
and colorful interior.

I roam both show rooms and storage closets
and neither means less to me.

I list your plant pots, glasses, cutlery.
I stack your chairs and wipe your tables.
I offer umlauts
and sit in the sunshine streaming through your windows
as you refill my coffee all day long.

My maths is done with small wooden pencils
and it all adds up to you + me.

I forgot my shopping list
but I found you anyway.