Housewarming.

They are making room for many more tonight.
Pulling out smells from washed bedspreads,
Plucking out the disorder that had settled over the years.

This night, and many after, they will spend nursing ruin’s grace.
Slender wine glasses will lie on blocks on the floor where they played scrabble with
their bodies.
Kitchen doors will turn crimson with dark shades of lipstick.
There will be a bit of getting that little more they wanted from themselves.
There will be a bit of wanting even more.

Tonight, many more will be more familiar.
But less dark, less hungry.
At daybreak, she will become the poetess she never became for him.
He will colour the room crimson.
From now on, summers will be spent finding new love.
Winters in mourning.