This Haunted House

A few empty walls, a table, some chairs; a desk, couch and a bed

Not even a frame, little more than a name, just a place to lay my head

Then you came along and filled it with song and once barren white walls

Carry a tune, hold onto you: a smile in a shadow each time I pass through

Your lopsided grin, a shrug and a strut, little moments of memories just between us

 

 

A strand of your hair, crumbs everywhere, the cushions still dent as if letting you in

You’re etched in the seams and they possess no need for me;

Nor me for them without you in-between, as I call it a night, and lie by memory’s side

Remembering how you couldn’t sleep if you weren’t touching me

 

My hand reaches for you, what more can I do, the next memory found

A soft little sound, you on the couch, watching tv, cause I sleep too loud

I take your hand, slow back to bed, my shoulder your head, as we fall asleep

As I wake again and find I’m remiss, because you’re not here, just in my dreams

Etched in the seams, a part of every piece, in each little fiber, of this haunted house.