i left you surrounded by scattered books
haphazard tales laid by faceless hands
placed lazily, left in a haze
the insurmountable maze of rooftop malaise
a tale told by every page and finger placed upon it
i think of the footsteps we left on the track
my black boots brown with dust I’ll take back
to my now hopefully temporary home
I don’t think I can leave you like the books on my shelf
neatly organised and totally composed
perhaps I’ll look at the mountain of clothes
which rest alongside me at the foot of my bed
and remember how we dreamed of the stars overhead