Thinking of you, sitting by the phone
Engulfed in my sweater cause you love the warmth and the remembrance of me.
You think you hear the beautiful tone of the ring
So spring up like a previously rusty cog.
And there is just the impersonal buzz of nothing.
Look at your watch
Imagine me finishing work,
Running to your house for records and cuddles
And the last train home, elated.
I catch my breath
That life/death feeling of love.
See the mirror.
I’m there in the jumper, my reflection shivering.
No one waits by the phone anymore.
You don’t even have my ‘22 number.
And if you did,
You would never use it.
History is a cruel mistress.