we met in the half painted bedrooms
where they speak words from a holy book
you cut yourself on the glass from a candle
and the broken pieces of me that I left on your floor

you recreate the parts of us
like you don’t even want it
acting out a play in real time
because you’re heart doesn’t mean it

i can still smell the fragrance
the out of date flapjack on the bookshelf
the vapour from the green tea in the cups
the feeling of together
all alone
just us