June 30th

It's June and in 30 days
you'll be gone.
I'll be left waiting at Mile End,
the district line cackling
with mock sympathy
as 12 carriages whip the scream from my throat.

I bend my back upon the bows,
to find an answer,
within the chug and rattle of my heart.
Squares of yellow,
holding dead end clues, slide sickly out of reach

The silence sighs,
So warm and close
That I almost hear you whisper.
Beckoned calls,
reigning promise,
from the hollowing labyrinths of our city.

They're walking overheard
Spilling new stories on top of old
upon the streets we lean beneath
Pausing for breath
Still, together,
Alone.