Sometimes sapphire, sometimes silence, sometimes nothing there but piss and ire thrown against the walls in this our home. The next day gave way
to gazes resigned. The downward eye lines flit and scan the last years. You in your corner, me in mine. There was a time when no such venom would bed for
night; smashed against argument’s rough coral, but then again it was suddenly that the walls went white and black mould clung…Paint stained fingers; hurried
boxes sealed; a space in your place and long nights lying next to it. Risk and failure and forever left to slot it in its place. Sapphire burnt to grit beneath black mould;
clung to the backs of frames. White walls and gritted teeth. White walls peeling and black nails clinging. In all four corners the house is plain now. White walls peeling.
‘Not in this house’. It all just is plain now.