the city in which I love him

is one of ennui

and desolated with despair

while my roots lie beneath

and so does his

my emigrated stem breathes a different air,

But I long for both to inhale the selfsame

the city in which I love him

is bright and warm and divine

just three words don’t suffice

a displaced seed is mine which came back home

initially wilts and dries but

my sunlight and rain all nurture

I hope he stays in my future.

The city in which I love him

runs slow and comely

sometimes pleasurable however

one can’t always uphold.

noisy melodious trains -

the only ones on time

are reminiscent of something- I do need his shared sky.

the city in which I love him

both must leave soon

the material web when breaks

when ‘our’ hands can’t touch ‘us’

two years can be a boon

I found my moon

the city in which I love him is wherever I set foot.