I stand in front of a house
Your house.
I walk towards the door
Your door.
The door you open
the **** that you held,
The **** which now
my hand holds.
I open the door
all I sense is the cold.

I feel an empty house
your house.
I see your vacant chair
your stuffy sofa,
Covered in dust
and white ***** rags.
I see the windows on the wall,
the sun piercing through,
the sullied old curtains
you used to hang

The things I saw
only made me weep
The table
where you ate,
The kitchen
where you cooked
The bed
where you slept
The garden
you mended

All these things
reminds me of you
All these things
you used to do
And
now that you’re gone,
I am left alone;
All I have left of you
is this House;
The House that is full of you.