i heard you’re living in a house
in the town i grew up in
i’ll bet its red brick, and terraced, with single pane glass
just a couple of questions i’ve still got to ask:
do the floorboards creak under the weight of your secrets?
do the windows shake with the strength of that storm you’ve been
keeping to yourself?
these are the last words you’ll ever hear from me:
do you still catch my voice on a springtime breeze?
or have to shake off thoughts of me,
from some late summer evening’s humid reverie?