dank and reaching, a jacket sleeve...

 You were the room we designed,

coveted on a tombstone of sorry afternoons 

that was the school of our childhood.

Our divine perfect club,

exclusive.

Where in Blossoming & Blood

we sang

in our jackets of escape,

of park pigeons and cinema buzz

of thwarted security and sad health,

of excitement

of pizza hut bum rush

and ease.

Our hearts fastened together

for emerald epoch,

as you wanted me always in your room 

for

new editions

of assured regality

to be finally worn in

side by side...

But a warped tender frame

squeezes a door painfully sorry

as it meets me,

with my heart fastened

and appalled

because yours and what we designed

has left. Deserted.

Dank and reaching,

a jacket sleeve

from under the door,

for a club betrayed 

remains.