When I walked,
the city purred under me.
(It showed me things)
I’m turning my back
on a certain aesthetic
where the houses
stand
at right angles
in shades of black and white
and straight aluminum.
A look that colonized my thoughts
with youthful promises of
Bohemia.
I’m a traitor.
So I seek twirly things.
And when the city towers,
I curl.
And when the city rages,
I moan.
So the dance ensues
with me, lusting over rust
over seagull ****
over peeling whispers
and earthy hues,
and with her
purring,
in heat