and the colour of the walls you could not sleep throughout the summer on the same bed where we lay with one another and the slow pass in the time we had
and hidden from your mum when we got ash into the carpet when the river burst its banks into the gardens and the white flag when things got bad
and the cool air in the bus that we would catch across the county every weekend all the things that could not move me and the way back when the night drew fast
on the low roof or the lawn on which you lay beside your brother in the pale before you met me at the party and the nerve gas and the nerve he had
there are things eternal inside of my head the walk the, end of the movie the bleak light, the end of your bed the walls, the size of your body