New York,
You’ve grown on me.
Like an unruly vine grows on the
wrought-iron gates
of some distinct Bronxville home.
I promised not to be loved.
After all my sordid love affairs
I promised not to be loved,
But to only love instead.
You broke my bitter promise,
And you kept it, all at once-
You’ve loved me like a mother
Who gives her naked body
To sustenance.
Yes,
New York.
You've made an unreliably honest
woman out of me.
Your winding suburban streets
Have wound themselves right into my heart
And the bursts of air from your city subway vents
Have filled the many crevices of my brain
And made me a feather-light babe
In love.
I have parted with my heart,
On several of your streets and intersections.
And given many a cavernous kiss,
On your numerous rooftop bars.
And, I too have marveled
at the droves of your electric stars
As I joined them in a fast-walking-city heaven;
Like everyone, with googlemaps open.
Your labyrinth of expository village walks
Have worked me into a sweating, heaving mess.
And I’ve felt the tingles when
Your crowded subways thrust
Nostalgic smells like Old Spice
upon me.
Indeed, even the bee-line buses’ warm heaters,
Have made me moan in delight
On not just one,
But many a frigid evening.
But no,
I won't say I'm in love.
For you have patiently taught me that
There are dangers in no-filter.
And in forgetting that people are kindred strangers.
But still:
I knew the stubborn truth last night,
When the sight of your skyline brought a smile
To the very edge of my ears.
I'm only a brief visitor to the intricacies of love,
Just like every other
museum perusing
not-quite New Yorker.
museum perusing
not-quite New Yorker.
But I do see the overwhelming substance of it:
Just like every other
overspent adventurer
and transitional passenger.
And, it inspires me to know:
And, it inspires me to know:
I once left home for ye*, New York.
But today, I'm coming home to you.
_____________________
*Until familiarity provides such liberties,
An enclave, as it is, shouldn’t be singular.
