To Let

It was my mess.
Nurtured with near maternal care.
You chose to make it your home.
Spring cleaning,
Dust masks,Broomsticks, Rags, galore,
I worked like a maniac.

You couldn’t move comfortably.
I threw away the old armchair,
The springless couch,
The battered bed,
The weatherworn closet,
All into nothingness.

Flowers bloomed bright,
Sunlight filtered through the window panes,
Fresh air cleared the musty odour.
I savoured very sparkling inch
And then I let you in,
Into a sterile, prepped up abode.

You persisted,
Insisted,
On knowing the previous occupants.
You chose to condescend,
I chose to evict.
My efforts now debased.

I like the fresh air, the light
The flowers, the new drapes.
I don’t want the old furniture.
I need an occupant.
Not a tenant,
An owner.

He began visiting, casually.
Then with good cheer and humour.
Roses and champagne.
He rings the bell with love
And patience
No concerns about who lived here earlier.

Last week he stayed long
Last night he stayed over.
Through the morbid solitude
Of the dark.
Now he asks to stay forever.
As owner.

He wishes to invest
In beautifying the premises.
He moves around with alacrity,
Explores every nook lovingly,
Greets relics from my past
And places them on the mantle.

He kisses the jagged edges
Of broken panes,
With no fear of injury,
All the while
With my hand clasped
In his.

My heart is vacant,
Is desperate.
To let him in.
May I?