It Happened

A rumpled bed,
stains on the carpet,
a dripping faucet,
daylight looks through
dirty windows.
Grease on the stove
smokes at breakfast
above sticky linoleum.
It is always the same,
like the front page of a newspaper
with a whore’s boldness
the rooms expose their drabness—
it will never change.

But it does change, it will never be the same.
You brought affectionate hands
and words clean and bracing,
not a kiss, not even a touch,
just the fragrance of appearance
to fill the whole house.
It will never be the same,
it has all changed.