I wake to emails that are not from you
The single buzzes on my run aren't too
Later, the doubles throw names on the lock
screen, but they're someone else's - we don't talk.
The T runs late, a fortnight after U
Riders are smiling, texting back, a few
have the correct fair hair, but the wrong face
I check your typing bubble - just in case.
The flight east makes a short night run away
I'd have a red eye even at midday.
I'll dry, return to touch before the fall
rains mute my will - "touch to return to call".
The Lune drains slowly west - the day we met it ran uphill
We'll find our level best - I know you're standing, hope you're still