I pinch my fingers together
and take the doors off its hinges.
I reach my arm inside,
snaking up the stairs,
but my fingers can’t reach the landing.
I twist my arm out of the building,
pull the edges of the roof up.
It lifts, with relatively little collateral damage.
My eyes scan a nearby park,
where I lay the roof for a moment.
Now I can bring my head in close.
A single eyeball hovering above your bed.
This is not what I expected;
white naked walls and a single bed.
You would not think it was lived in.
My breath stirs you.
I step back and reach for the roof.
My hands shake as I replace it.
Dusting off my coat I assess the damage is forgivable.
I walk away.