The carpet is thick here.
Fuggy and like pastelled peaches.
In the fibres is us; flesh flakes dead and brittle,
Our nail, hair and bone,
Liquor in hand to toast our time’s acquittal.
It is a night in the present, our past’s indulgence
Upon all that we held too dear.

The chime of bottled beer.
I surrender to your faces.
A sea of young fortune; it favours acute flesh,
Our ***, bare and tone,
Her nails painted black, bruised legs folded in mesh.
For once, I cling not to my ungodly obsession
And think not of time’s grisly sneer.

You live within my tears.
Each moment aside from this room.
In grey matter is us; memories flayed and malformed,
Our kiss, touch and moan
Bought several times since, efficiently performed.
Don’t lie to me, the meaning of your transitioned lives,
Nor that my face does not still endear.

The air is too thick here,
Now that I have left this shelter.
I shall meet you in waves; upon battered beaches,
Our age, wage and loan
To lace our tongues in most defeated speeches.
In this life it is us; now so rehearsed in our kindness,
But still shrapnel and fallout
In all that we fear.