I burst into the light and wood from the ice and stars. “I bought the red.” Not the white. Pink can fuck itself and I don’t believe it comes in blue. We join. “I hope that’s OK?” and “of course” she says, “it’s fine. Thank you, darling.” I leave the room pleased. My backs crooked and I’ve holes in my socks but that’s OK. Maybe one day I could fix those headboards, I think, as I sit, crouched beneath them, pulling the open cotton rings from my toes. Some days I just wish I could just get comfy – as comfy as my nose on October evenings such as these as she fills my home with the scent of meat, beer and fine cigarettes, or as comfy as his chest, when she feathers it with calm hair after their morning bath together on weekends. An entanglement it would be, to wish my place next to him so that we may share her hair between us when that sun hits eleven AM high. An entanglement it would certainly be. So, I decide, I must shed this unhealthy bone of time and adorn my finest and if there will be a hand left for me then I shall burn it and keep what is already mine.