Why is the carpet rolling,
Beneath her naked feet,
Swaying, swirling, rushing,
Whirling in defeat.
Apparently it’s over,
Gone now, obsolete.
Leftovers wait from dinner,
Shimmering in the heat,
Of candles, that, unneeded,
Burn through wax like sun through snow.
Her hands are by her side now,
Then pointing to the door,
And all I see is carpet,
Trailing across the floor.