You've already left.
537 miles North of me, of us.
I'll ruffle up to join you in four (agonising) weeks
but to my unconcerned shame,
I'm too sad to sleep in that bed without you, too ungoverned.
Nostalgia, even the warm kind, is too much feeling for me.
Something about it has always made my lipids curdle
and an unpleasant tickle cloud in my brain.
The street ou...
Tuesday 30th March 2021 9:40 am