The Home where her heart was

We'll take a room each
split up 
we'll obliterate every trace of her from the empty house
the home where her heart was

I'll take the Bedroom 
the hoover is my chosen weapon
I take no prisoners 
ransacking the place of every spider and every particle of dust

we'll plunder what's been forgotten
what's left behind
desperately salvage our childhood memories
clinging to our loot like cobwebs

and once every room is stripped of her presence
her lingering smell smothered by detergent

Then we'll retreat
let the dust settle again and the spiders repopulate their corners
and I thank god she is not here to see
the house where her heart was