we'd worked it all out in our heads
but when we'd made it to our beds
our dreams ruined everything
and we pulled apart anything
to make some sense of something.

we'd worked it all out on paper
but it slowly reached the shredder
for the sake of it never working out
because what this was all about
was deeper than the tile; it was in the grout.

so we had to start at the base
and gave ourselves the space
to make it all work in one way
and that's when i began to say,
"you're dead, as the horse is to his hay."