Can you say you miss a place like a lover?

Then if then I can say the Thames wends its way through my waking, 

and even the thought of a Heath roll ramble brings high hearts to my beating soul, 

some drunk Camden shit-camera red-stripe abandon fills 

the clavicle I left on Finchley rd when I scrambled so far north 

I forgot my poppy-seed inebriate scares and left 

that hated Dollis Hill-scape, all mold walls and 10quid whiskey but 

I found - tucked in Hampstead woodlands, between rabbit forts and acid

Break up trips - some part of that ancient deep and beating place that was then if for me

A scene engineered to let you slip between it

Winging along a rush-walled city, sliding and sloughing and seeking

My own related anatomy