The Room

The key to your heart and a hand upon the mantle
Anticipation wells inside
a rush to the door
your hesitation charming
and all I want is to be in your arms.....

The room is a bed and the bed is the room, the continuum is endless
the space goes on for many a mile
that nothing exists outside this tomb of mine.

The cluttered posters
the cluttered space
does not disturb this restless state.
all available space must be used, the room is a dance floor of inadequate things

A plastic bag for our bin, dirty dishes amounts many a thing
broken brown open all hour’s plastic-wood effect wardrobe
with its war wounds and its war stance
which you have to dance with in order to squeeze past.
to knock your head into Red or hump the silver treasure case with spikes of light.
it guides the truest treasure that ever existed, in the room that was a bed.

The splattered bugs in various spots upon the white-grey walls display stolen blood
the blood they stole from us, mainly me.
my make shift book case on the floor
between the warrior and your sandwich stack of coal and diamonds

The soiled sheets made clean by our descent.
Dead flowers show casing a ribena bottle, best I ever had
medicine, candles, books, tapes, etcetera,
knickers on the radiator lead the way to safety
or so we were told


WHAT LAY AHEAD WAS BECKTON