On that side of the wall there's a version of here,
But the table's the other way round,
It's a mirror of this and next door it's the same,
But the clock face is yellow not brown,
In the both next to ours sit ourselves in this place,
But in there your hair parts to the right,
And your eyes the same depth with that thought on your mind,
But next door you stayed silent that time,

And next door again we eat chips and talk shop,
And next door again we're not there,
We've gone to the shore and we're skipping some stones,
And you reach for me then but catch air,
I lean on my hand on this side of the wall,
And you tear it all down with 'let's get out out of here',
And I say 'the beach' and you're pulling me near,
But I think you're joking and I start acting weird,

But you don't this time, and you stop me this time, and you say this time, this time...

And right at this moment we're pressed up to the wall, your hands in my hair, the shake of our fingers, finally burning a trail of tears,
Your breath on my body and lash brush my lips and this fury of touch, a violent solace, of soft soft soft fingertips,

So longed for this shudder of sweltering pains that bloom as your fingers crush into me,
And my cells break down and my skin becomes yours and you cry and I bury you inside me,

For this time is all time and I'll never lose this this,
Even when you're gone.