my nutella went cold, my heart broke

Fall back,
fresh bed;
the nest you made yourself not moments ago
came about through blueprint and rehearsal,
practice for the show
of more sleep and gust in your sails.

We forgot where that ladder led,
ran up it twice to a ruined viewing platform
where white sheet sky spat itself into cloud and sea-spray from the spit of headland
that pointed south,
back home via up north synapse of electricity
and bath time blues.

Sing to me Stop Staring and Do,
you're giving me more receipts than I can handle and keep,
so stitch them into scarves, neckerchiefs,
airport walking escalators,
something faster than the overwhelming sadness I saw in a German Shepard's eyes today,
bored he was lease bound and tied to a lamppost by the post
master's office. He'd rather have been kissing in car washes than have been sat there;
see the war paint mascara turn into a masquerade for yourself whilst sat atop a warm fridge than have been waiting for its owner,
pared down and ready to run,
catch up with Henry's wolves over the page, back a few. Years.