First it was next to the huge window, Overlooking the city sky, framed at its ends By a money plant and a rubber plant, One you sold and the other you neglected.

Close by on the sill were candles, wine bottles and photographs. Some of them had to be turned away and some placed elsewhere. Those disapproving eyes needled you as you were doing what you did with me.

Then it was moved next to the wall, I jumped in first And all night long my back, touching the wall, was cold And my face, touching yours, was hot. But I rolled around And pushed you off the bed. Or so you claimed. I accepted.

We switched places and soon I was leaning off the edge. I was Greg Lougains about to win my first diving gold, You were my sly coach, always measuring my performance, Those doubles and triples, pushing me even when I cracked my head.

At last it ended on the other side, almost in the middle, A democratic end game with equal chances to fall off either side. Did we push each other off, finish each other off? Who fell first? Or did we cling to each other, afraid of the demons under the bed?

But this is when I notice a strange pattern, it might be just incidental, But it appears that it moved like a boat, carrying me towards the exit. Maybe your purpose was different; maybe all you wanted to do was save those few steps Before you could jump in with your latest cartographer, as both of you came rushing in.