The old doorman coughed hocking phlegm in a silk handkerchief rain filled his pockmarks his smile insincere as a Chelsea mans handshake vice like, tepid. At the end of the street where cold wind is stolen by the shish kebab shop she walked towards me each step leaving Adidas on cart worn pavements. Check in desk pseudonym walnut reflection devil crumbling from an East London voice ‘sign ere and ere love’. Doused by her bleached meat a painted noose strangled me. when I kissed her chest, Jesus danced on a silver noose falling into my mouth leaving bread wine and bitter metal. My pockets turned green and Tchaikovsky brought my wife vibrating out of my pocket in a chariot of light till it laid face down next to a pink bow on black lace. ‘This is wrong I said’ and left with my umbrella