White Floor

My house is tired of my being
My everyday rants, broken lines of ants
And I lie on the white of the marble
Scattered everywhere, everyday
Licking it bereft of dust, of color
Thinking of it as your white bare body.
My tongue drags on and on
Splintered with lies, both black and white
Leaving behind the trail of red
On a passage of pure white,
And like an artist possessed by love
I paint the floor pure red, the red of my
Heart, the red from your body, into
The white sands of my house.