I wore your clothes tonight –
A futile testimony of love, or misery.
Because they have long lost the scent of you
Now they only reek of me, my lonely company.

I still knock at the pea green houses door,
Always waiting a moment more
For you to come a calling, telling me of “pony”
Or declare lovingly my stupidity.

I tell myself you’re still out gambling,
Or buying ice cream  because you’ve won some pounds.
The door to the pea green house is never answered,
Nor are forgotten candles left alighting.

I know you are in the place
You always prayed you’d be,
and I know this makes you happy.

Soon the pea green house will be home again,
Never again to you or me though –

Your house is sold nan –
I can’t call anymore,
Or live my euphoric fantasy.
You are not gambling, knitting, deaf or any other

You’re dead,
even though you’ll never really be dead to me.