Today is the first bitterly cold day of winter.
With a high of thirty,
I bundle myself up for my morning drive.
Puffer jacket, hat, scarf, gloves.

In the car, I wonder if its this cold in London.
I wonder if you're wearing the plaid, wool jacket
Or the black puffer.
Neither are long enough,
So I worry if your legs are cold.

Does this weather make you miss home?
Does it remind you of all those sad country songs
That you love to listen to around a fire?
The kind that sound better
When they unfold in clouds of frozen breath?

Are you still smoking cigarettes?
Is it becoming a hassle to take breaks in the cold?
It is for me.
But since you left,
I've needed them as much as I need you.
I wonder if we ever shiver in the cold at the same time.

So I wrap myself up to brave the cold,
And warm my lungs on the vice
I tried to rid you of.
Not only did I fail,
But i've picked up the distilled poison for myself.

Funny how you do that.
Taking my hopes
And turning them into a regressive addiction.
I can't be the first
You've had this affect on.

So tell me, is it cold in London?