Back to Southover Street

I am taken back to the room,
Where that chapter began,
No curtains, no carpets,
Only you, asleep,
Starfished on our newly bought futon,

Here in the bathroom,
With broken floorboards,
Rough as pumice,
And the plaster falling in,
Scraps of pink peacocks underneath,

On the stairs it hits me,
The familiar smell,
So familiar,
that I can’t remember.