The Love Struck House

Love - it drips from the ceiling and seeps into the yellow walls of the house;
Sitting on my favorite chair, in my favorite corner, I watch the growing patch;

The tiny dot, gradually unfurling becomes a blot on the wall - soon it takes over;

The color changes from light to dark as the room grows cold - in anticipation;

I spend ages watching, waiting, wondering - when will it drench my heart, touch my soul?

Meanwhile, the patch moves into another corner, drenching another niche till I lose count;

I wait for it to come near the chair, daring it to clutch me in its cold, warm, fingers;

I wait for months, years, ages, till bored and numb with cold I shift to a house that has no walls.