Your hometown

I love your hometown:
it's sun shower and traffic jam,
it's cold stare, and satisfying apathy.

I love your hometown:
where the hushful is a bliss,
and solitary trance never feels desolate and bereft.

I wish I was there,
because it's where your space was in an approachable heavens
and the impossible was abolished and probable,
even if the only thing you gave me was your cold shoulder
as a souvenir, from your hometown.