a shakespearean sonnet in iambic pentameter (hopefully, or else I will not get an A). "A Vacant House"

The dusty floor has been unswept for years,
Ceramic tiles once pearly white now grey,
Or yellow with the small, round stains of tears;
Dried flowers, mold; the drinking cups decay.

They say she doesn’t live here anymore,
They never look this way when walking by;
Outside, the grass sways long and limp and poor;
The grass, the paint, the walls – the tears are dry.

A field nearby, below a patch of soil,
His bones, her hand, forever intertwined;
She curls her fingers; milk begins to spoil,
She stares, she holds a glass of acid wine.

At night she’ll leave her chair to close the door;
They say she doesn’t live here anymore.