Burn the maps.

I drive through the streets of Cape Town. 
They map a tale of lost love
like a faded photograph
a song I used to sing.


I drive through
Stellenbosch
Kogel bay
Wynberg.


This is the street where we held hands.
Where we kissed.
Here we had a fight.
Here we laughed.
We talked.
We understood.
We witnessed.
We held.
We kissed.
We kissed.


I drive through Bloubergstrand
I drive through Melkbos
in the rain in December
and I think:
What a strange day for rain. 

Your maps were burnt a long time ago.


I will need a cartographer
to etch out new lines on mine.