this room is languishing in its own filth; by day, a crypt
of dusty clothes. god knows who they belong to,
these days of filthy sunshine and coat hangers.
sometimes he brings up red wine spritzers in coke glasses
and we rot away together on bright afternoons.
the wall cavity is full of my secrets; i whispered
them in there through the hole in the plaster
and one day they will bring this house down.
