You leave me, untouched
like rooms in a house that are unused
just for show. You want me
You want me — plastic wrapped
and squeaky clean.
Just for show. I am the dining room
you never use. Watching
as you take your meal elsewhere,
anywhere but here. Leaving me with
waiting, as you want me
for what will never come;
a room full of friends, laughing
or a meal just for two, music,
walls filled with warmth.
You’ve left me vacant
for so long, now I only ache
Red wine spilt on my cream carpets.
Sash windows, smashed. Cigarette burns
pushed deep into my chair cushions.
No longer do I need your presence
to make this house
You don’t love me the way I need to be loved.
© 2022, Georgia-May Stone. All Rights Reserved.