Your face is melting into her face,
the room spins three sixty;
there are birds and sirens everywhere.
The sofa is on the ceiling;
...
Behind a wood sliding door
the whistling and grinding
of a great machine
brings us slowly, inexorably
...
The solitary light
at the top of the office block
way after midnight
where a hand in the darkness
...
Every floorboard is a tip-off,
every door a squealer,
the telephone has your number.
...