.
.
.
not
a word
passes between you
and I, dear city, when
you open my eyes then
veil them again. You like
to surprise me and I like
being led.  Surround me
with  noise  and lights: I
really don't mind being
blinded with beauty. As
I silently step into your
sad-skyscraper skeleton,
you let me know that all
these different humans
-the ones you birth, mind
you - tire you  terribly.
Sometimes, you even
wish  you could pop a
sleeping pill, or maybe
two or three (the secret
being that you'd swallow
the whole bottle if no one
was looking). Don't even
try to feign perfection. I
caught you sleeping that
one time: it was so
beautiful I
almost
cried
.
.
.