Temperatures

There are seven degrees
Between us, dear, me
Here and you there, our
Pedigrees identical but the
Messages we took, different
As chalk and cheese.  Now
Geography is the thing, a
Piscean in the deep and murky
Depths of the north, your
Split personality happy and
Too hard at work on a
Brighton coastline that is
Strange to me - southern
Seas are more benign than
This town's incessant rain.
I am housebound with my
Injuries, batting ghosts into
Their past presence, stringing
Bits together to make a
Whole that walks and talks
Sans pain.  Tonight I have been
Frivolous: I have cut and
Shaped my nails and painted
Them outrageous red. I
Have made my bed and
Lie in it, trying to feel at ease.
How different our destinies - the
Wooden figures in a weatherclock:
I walk out in sombre gear,
You are smiling, never near but
Always placed in sun needing
Neither wings nor prayer.
My smiling man I hold you
Dear; mercurial as our lives'
Divergent  temperatures.

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