Threshold 

The dark, always an undemanding host, 
fell over the room 
like strips of gauze. 
It blurred your features into smoke. 
When morning comes
you may no longer look like anyone at all. 
The bedsheets melted slowly into the snow, 
the wallpaper peeled away steadily from the night. 
There was the lamp, delighted to be needed,
telling me the window was not so lonely after all. 
I closed my eyes, your face easing into focus,
and wondered what the house looked like with both of us inside.