A tableau

The empty house stands right there,

still locked, blue, and bleak.
Just as it has for ages, now, 
earning not as much as a glance.
Today it giggled, shrieking with mirth,
tickling itself, shrugging off dust,
mocking at me, whispering of a night,
when it burst bizarrely into life,
getting to play a sudden voyeur,
partner in crime, his and mine,
as he loitered down my lonely lane;
It was those steps he chose to adorn;
on those walls leaned his lanky frame;
blazing eyes lighted mine,
bleached walls borrowing our shine;
sweet notes hurriedly sung,
wound into creepers on window rungs;
smiles and kisses of rich baritone
spilled over, drenching my ears,
planting themselves onto every crevice;
spring bloomed out of the blue,
on that dull, dreary, and battered porch,
on a cold, dry, and wintry night,
leaving the old house, forever changed,
just for this stealthy pair of eyes