Well, the floorboards will not betray you
if you choose; the
doorhinge will stay complicit as you walk away
and into the morning fog, alone
and if you never say another word
then he might never know;
your shoes on the mat will
aid and abet and
you will be gone
at dawn,
silent.
He will wake up alone and
call it a draw, call it
breaking even or
breaking up.
This house will
tell no secrets of yours, it has
centuries of memory more
interesting than the
thousand repetitions of these
same sad waltzes
to the familiar beat
of heartbreak
on hardwood.
