Clothes on the Floor

We were in close chambers for a year

had stepped across each others thresholds.

We brought lifelong obscura, our sour

drops of stories that together stirred

made lakes in common

you and the distrust of the utterance of love

and rightly so when tooling for manipulation

and unusually early.

and i doubting the contracts as cover

if trust has housed love with doors

and the windows tall as metres.

In our onyx lakes a deep laughter

rises from the fabric of semiprecious waters...

it was all best heard outside of the workplace

and in the quarantine of just a phone call

last thing i remember you saying was

you had a full bad hair day. i was plumbing about

ensuing government reforms and what tickets

it could afford me and my final return to

the four walls.

I pray that gold is met with gold. your art, the bookreadings,

the nootropics. Outside of the end of this poem are classical 

nylon strings marching along the tangly tree of a guitar, sing