The chairs

Have summer coverings

Of cobwebs,

The imprint of our bodies

Lay silently on the bed

Wrapped in dust sheets,

The laughter of time

Looms between the drapes

Blocking the aching light,

The counters

Have time stained

Blotches, evidence.

You tried to clean those signs,

but our lives were painted on

the walls of this room.

You tried to remove the mistakes 

but we spent too much time

refining the details.

You were the one that put the house for sale

and changed the locks,

but I can't leave the memories behind.

There's tape lining my body,

yellow wrapping the premises.

I can't leave this all behind.