We leased it based on our impression
of the model—fully furnished, as if
page 37 of Pottery Barn’s fall catalogue—
He carried me over the threshold,
and together we surveyed our empty rooms,
beige and white walls—
Ran our fingers through the bedroom’s tan
Berber carpet—And laying naked, my head
on his chest, simultaneously noticed—
How the bedroom and closet doors opened—knob to ding knob—
collided into each other, so that neither
could fully open, unless the other was shut.