Darling, since Tuesday, 

I have packed my crocodilian inventions in my train case,
My masks and glamour too, and my chest spilling
Over with amphibious intentions and hairy legs. 

Things lost levity.

You pulled relics from the fire of my closing ceremony, and now the ashes emit the jitter of an incomplete ritual. Prolonging death is undignified, and we do it every evening. 

So I pull it all from the mantle: the candelabras, the pink potions, the band of reptiles, and the scent of sweet earth. 

I have descended the staircase and abandoned the manor.