Re-tiling

The floor rips up easily,
Flaking summery skin.

Two disenchanted mallards
Returning to the spot once called “home”.
Rain blurs windows to mosaic,
Slow drip damning in persistence.

Fog wreathes like a coil,
Suffocating the skyline.
Rooftops poke like bubbly hope
Distorted into nightmare.

The floor rips up easily,
Sucking peel of parting skin.

Tarnished oak floor,
A gilded heart
Beats consolation;
Exposure breeds erosion.

Trust is myth birthed to being;
Two parts honesty, eight parts deception.
Retold thereafter
As idealized dreaming.

It is all bare bones
Torn asunder.
Paint over, build upward,
Let time render it forgotten.

The floor rips up easily.