Home isn't an address

Home isn’t an address,
it’s a feel that you give,
both your arms inviting,
being where we belong.

It is there in your arms,
as I sleep contented,
a feeling of safety,
being where I should be.

I shall not mind what place
we are staying a while,
but preferably it’s
somewhere close to the sea.

You smile when I wake up
not knowing where we are
but I can hear the roar
and the air smells of salt.

Only together we’re home,
knowing each other well,
being ourselves at ease,
no matter where we are.