Doors lead to other doors. A corridor.
He opened a window and listened to the rainfall
And smelt yesterday’s cut grass.
Fug. Aching. Sulphites. Esters.
Short time happy.
Long time sad.
Mendacious kiss. Ours was.
Without regrets. Still steeped in sentiment.
Bacon and eggs. Our cure for a hangover
Or was it the Nicaraguan coffee?
Slow walk up.
Looking down from the hills
At the new builds – blots on the landscape.
Sunday sex and breakfast in and out of bed.
Intimacy in the room at the end of the corridor.
Insane fucking. Fucking insane.