It Is Just A Rumor

I wrote you a
letter. Even put
a stamp on it.

I mailed it early
in the morning to
be sure it would
soon get to you.

I waited, lingered,
waited some more:
the letter had returned
because I had moved.

So rock on, woman,
I'm still going to
be near you.

Addresses, even cities
may change: but not my
love for you.

What city am I in now,
anyway?