North
from London,
a juddering train,
silver rain, traveling shadows.
At my table I can see 3 empty seats
as if I have no mates, or smell like a beast
and now, spinning around, I perceive
your pull – but you are miles away
and I feel an ache. I long to
swing and quiver,
turn my heat
to you from
way down
South.
I really like this one a lot. Strong poem.
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