War and Renovation

All over the floor
Are these fallen leaves or confetti?

If only colours and shapes could tell
Whether marriage is luxurious living-on-the-top-floor, the penthouse,
or ordinary hell

She remembers the various proposals they went through
She understood them as proposals to renovate their love

He remembers the sun that was
easy on the trees,
easy on the pavement,
easy on the their back,
to him it was a treaty, based on the policy of appeasement:
They were Chamberlain and Hitler proclaiming geometry of love exists

All over the floor
Are these falling petals or confetti?

The living room arrangement, the colour of the couch,
Wasn’t it a consensus agreement to leave a gap between the kitchen cabinet for the fridge?…

All over the floor,
one of us would have to sweep it
There’s no bitterness,
there’s no war,
there wasn’t an explosion
These aren’t shrapnel but broken glass pieces and ice cubes
soaked in a liquid map with sweet minerals that would attract ants to colonise and drown in