Monday, January 28, 2013

Where are we,
if we are not alone?
Maybe
nestled in the nooks
of heart valves
owned by lovers
and friends.
Palms together,
under our cheeks,
chin tipped down,
knees tucked up
and ankles crossed.
Eyes closed
as the familiar beating
rocks us
soothingly
while
indulgently
forgetting
what it feels like
to be alone.


Sunday, January 6, 2013

(even though I'm allergic)

I miss the yellow taxi turmoil
and the dependable foyer
of the West Side Highway
I miss takeout Tuesdays
underneath the Brooklyn Bridge
and the out of this world scent
of fresh baked bread in paper bags