Podcasts in bed

(A Poem)

I have kept…the receipts three years after you’ve left,
and aired them on a Spring cleaning.
Souvenirs in memory of episodes cast
and binged while we lay landlocked in bed on weekends.
And as my stream ends and I shuffle off Spotify’s vocal coil,
I wish you knew,
I love you in every universe,
I, still, want you everywhere, every way, all of you at once.
You ignored my letters, so I’ve turned to verse.
Spring is falling, and I’ve turned a mess.
Summer’s calling and London’s at its best.
So I’ll leave you,
tomorrow.
But I’m replaying episodes first.

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Unsplash