Flatmates

“Tha’ mustn’t go walkin’ about in corridors an’ listenin’”
~Frances Hodgson Burnett

There are seven steps between your door and mine
The path is littered with my clothes and your books on the floor
Pieces of you and me intertwined

Rent checks deposited, standing empty handed and blind
Distant and alone, but not anymore
There are only seven steps between your door and mine

On the first day we shared the number 34 bottle of hair dye
Both of us too shallow, too lonely; both of us too poor
Pieces of you and me intertwined

Friday he came with ripped jeans and bottled wine
Your laugh rippled, fell and slithered underneath your door
There are a thousand steps between your door and mine

I waited, ear pressed to the paint, till light broke past the window vines
Spilled in the hall way, the aftermath of the war
Everywhere, pieces of you and him intertwined

He left with your lace crumpled in his pocket, I stood to the side,
Choked on my forced laugh, embraced you, jokingly called you a whore
Only seven steps between your door and mine
Wishing for pieces of you and me intertwined