I started spring cleaning in March this year
Mopping up remnants of an antiqated life.
DNA sprinkled dustlike in every room of
That city house on High St you might've sold.
Sunrise filters itself through the crack on the
Door you promised me you'd fix before we
Realised that we couldn't fix ourselves.
It's Sunday morning and church bells echo early,
Clogging the pores of this place I live in now.
You'll have been up since before dawn and I can
Almost hear your voice ringing out amongst the pews.
I trace my finger along the window pane,
Separating dirt from the cracking paint
And wonder how long it will take to
Vaccume you away.