The Vanishing

tremor of light: the sky, a porcelain wall
landing at Heathrow a tuesday in the fall
you are sleeping next to me
i just let go your hand
i hope i can go through with this
i hope you understand
i leave you dreaming in row 12
run quickly down the escalator
at customs i am first in line
you wake now-its three minutes later
i am gone
m40, night. London, a blur behind me
leave from Heathrow at dawn
no one will ever find me
you will look for five more days
you will trawl the city night
then youll make yourself forget me
ill fade into the halflight
i am gone....