Cleaning my room

I rented my room away,

As someone needed to eat by day

Sleep by night and have no one say:

“Go home you bum, here’s not there!

You will give all of our tourists a scare,

Besides, it’s cold and you’re not a bear.”

I cleaned it, of course, the walls and the floor,

Fixed my DIY knob on the door.

(People get shocked handling a toy boar.)

Hid my poems for awkward’s sake,

Otherwise they’d sing and keep her awake,

The bad ones might make her laugh and break.

I thought I cleaned it till ready and done,

Nothing left over, zero, none.

I even exiled my sheltered fugitive nun.

Some days later, she moved in,

Was greeted by something that had been

Still left over, my abstract kin.

My personal scent gave her a shy smile

From everywhere at once and lingered a while.

I guess, no matter your cleaning style,

You leave your essence there as you live,

The time you spent is determinative.

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