Your memory meets me—
a slow burn:
like the last sip of bittersweet wine.
I cradle the warmth
as it plays in my bOnes


Wraps its arms around me,
like a well-known cOat—

and away we go.
For we’ve walked these streets before;
every corner, a whisper—
I’ve memorised.

We stalk back alleys;
because we can—
my mind, the charter of every rogue line—
shows you...