Playing House

In another world,

I leave the big light on:

It is not your house.

This time, I left;

ripped your teeth from their purchase.

You didn’t get the last word.

The wound aches.

A phantom pain, because

you are not coming back.

After the pain subsides,

I am handled with care.

You cannot touch me.

The curtains are still open:

like a moth to a flame,

I head homeward.