Furniture of my heart

Welcome to the humble abode of my heart,

Just mind your head a bit,

And leave your shoes in the steel blue shoe rack,

In the hallway of the inferior vena cava.

…

Let me invite you for tea,

In the autumnal red atrium,

Passing through the tricuspid door entry,

Leaving our rancour outside.

…

As we seat ourselves on the carved wooden table near the glass window,

I watch you scanning the space with amused eyes,

Flowing from the curtains on the window,

To the vase on the cabinet,

And I hear you chuckle as you see my scrap book,

lying on the hutch under the tv.

…

I show you around, and you follow me with rapt interest.

You hold your breath, as we enter the blue atrium,

And wonder if I still remembered your favourite colour when,

You notice the stylish table lamp, that is made of wood and tinted glass.

…

And you have a knowing smile when you see the swinging chair,

Next to the mahogany book rack.

You aren’t surprised when you see Harry Potter on the highest shelf,

And I let the “seriously?” expression on your face go unnoticed.

…

We don’t talk too much cuz we’re walking down a memory lane,

Searching yourself in the photo frames on the wall,

And the tiny tit bits lying on the dresser, that are your gifts,

Remind us of a time, not too long ago.

…

Almost dinner time as we approach the subtle green ventral room,

And you’re surprised to see a dining table for six right in the centre,

“I like having my friends over sometimes”’ I say,

And you smile as you believe that I still think of you as one,

That’s something to strike a conversation I think,

As I set the crockery from the cupboard onto the table.

…

We continue our banter, wine glasses in hand,

Me in the chaise and you in the bean bag,

The roof light— a dim pink,

And Ed Sheeran’s Perfect playing in the background.

And in that moment we knew,

All resentment was forgotten, all grudges forgiven.

…

It’s 4 in the morning, as I let out a stifled yawn,

We look at the clock at the same time

And laugh out loud,

As we move into the innermost chamber of my heart,

Painted in the most calm off white hue.

…

Still talking in hushed, sleepy voices, we lie down,

On the old school, four poster bed, that has pictures of peacocks on its crown.

Drifting away instantly into a placid, content sleep, between the jumbled pillows,

As the sun was rising, and the birds chirped in the distance.