Do you really take it as a compliment,
When the woman at the check out
Pauses, and judges the truth in your face?
You’re only just 25, with cracks around your mouth.
–
Do you care which route I took?
Which combination of tarmac strips,
That weave between our existence?
I lost my faith along a clear A6.
–
Was the food really perfect,
Like you said to the passing staff?
Did you find the time to taste,
On the ebbing tide of laughter?
–
Do you feel the funny way that,
Wrapped within those early nights,
The tender warmth escapes your mind?
Until I find you in the lingering light.
–
Buried, somewhere deep,
In our well-worn cadences.
Is the outstretched hand– reaching
Across the unbreachable space between.
