Latitude

I think of us fading.
In that old house.

Sometimes,
listening to music,
through silence.

Van Morrison for me.
A Prince for you.

Tea,
cigarettes.
The occasional flicker.

When we said goodbye,
in that swept room.
We were searching for embers,
of another time.
When the phone was off the hook,
the duvet distressed.

And now I’ve walked north,
to invent my wheel.

You are forever south.

Wild eyed and legless.
In your dreamt fantastic place,
that you’ll never visit.

Latitude divides us.
Don’t ever bring out your map.