I leave a line of memory on a Bicester wall,

a remark, an admission of love

wrapped up in clothing of regret,

for these days I think of you

in sepia detail, like a long lost lover

who moved away without saying goodbye,

I feel bereft of Time,

for whilst I glimpse at you

in modern social media glory and those bitter

sweet postcards

sent by locomotive from

the steep bank of Bicester North,

I miss the haze of Sheep Street

now closed