Testo Funeral Suit

He came by in his funeral suit
In an open hearted shade of blue
Asked me what I like to do
On a July evening

To bermondsey or to shoreditch
I said I don't know which is which
The night a thread for him to stitch For me, the unbelieving
In the end we just stay in
And gesture with our mugs of gin
Dance around this borrowed kitchen
A stop and start dumb snow

I am a cloud filament
We advance in tender increments
Between the past and future tense
Test the weight of both