Tumble down the first three steps.
Grope at the jacket hanging from the peg.
Lift the frosted bottle to your lips.
Go bathe in the murky midnight
Go fascinate the fiery seraph
Go navigate explosive incentive
You are there
With the iron aroma waft in the room
With the soft buttery sigh of sharp refutation
With the pin-prick sky just beyond your reach
This is the place where the slumber begins
To get to Heaven
Think of Egyptian cotton strangled between you
Think of red roses malicious in the Waterford vase
Think of the last whisper past plump parted lips
