Dead leaves surround
a piece of paper
on the floor
like fragmented words
untraced in darkness

squeezing out
every emotion of my feet
shaking in vibration
dislodged in cramp

scrambled in distant thoughts
of a house viewing
I had just done
after deciding I wanted
to move on,

and a birthday do
I was looking forward to
the following day
whispering like the ghost
of Christmas future in my head

acquiescing to leaves
dancing distant in the wind
before blowing on the floor
like a red carpet
leading to a coronation street tour

of which like a film start
only you would arrive late to
always like Elise Tanner

and never

never

never

like Ken Barlow.