This house is cold without you
but I feel so old around you,
thinking as one as fibres entwine,
picking at threads, fabrics unwind.
Outside this house, under the sun
I am aqueous, diluting my spirits
until I’m weakened and you handle me
and I cannot stand without...
Being me, with you, I am here.
The symbol of my affection
was painting this brickwork yellow,
extinguishing the red within me.
This sacrifice- a superficial act?
You misunderstand me. I will unfold
in this house so cold without you-
my listing saying: ‘sold- as new’.