Milk cartons filled with water, brown sugar on a banana. Leashes on kittens and bones for budgies. Fried toothpicks, salted opinions. Walks on a bannister, smiles at a funeral. Whispered threats, imitated promises. Love on a monday, no wine. Awake before 11, down after 12. Truth be told, clothes all sold.
Up up up, and out of town.

Your room smelled of drink, and sick mopped up last night; the sun was coming in more strongly, it was nearly twelve I think.
We both lay there, saying nothing and thinking nothing and the sheet was crumpled and ***** beneath us, the duvet on the floor, far away
The room was a mess, and it stayed that way until six-thirty when you asked me what I wanted to eat (still thoroughly hungover)
We ate cereal.
The next day was Sunday, and it went very much the same. The same happy daze.

You went on to become infamous, I went and became happy.
We never did what we wanted because of each other; I think that was love.

To be a child again, mouthing sorry in a doorway with a clenched fist in a corduroy pocket, and a stupid smile on my face

We dipped our rags in the toilet bowl and lined all the doors, traded the chipped glass for plastic cups and set the party up on the floor.
You drew all the green cards (of all the colours), and spread the rest of the deck out for everyone to see.
My reach for the gin was clumsy, made you frown, but you chose to stay.
After 9 the die had rolled out of sight but we played still, followed other rules.
When the smell of gas wafted through the room I wanted to tell you I'd changed my mind; like with everything else
You were so sure.
At last, you struck a match
and at that we all clapped.

If you would make me your copy I'd have half a mind to come undone, tear those things apart that you love so much and break your spirit
quite happily, and quietly
And you would make me a bonanza
Fill me to the brim till I was trivial to you, void of sense

Tired, staunch.
On the stool.
A man sits there patiently.
He takes pity on thoughts woven together in the night.