The lovers are the ghosts

of a gone music,

they don't know now from know,

they arm themselves in sequence.


The lovers rise from the bed

they step out of the sheets

they put on their chains

they part.


Apart they are a part

of the sequence

of a sheet music of the chains

that trail behind.


The lovers are the guests

they're fake

they're nothing behind their mail

their nothing behind there, male.