i move quickly here
on cobblestones,
through skinny alleys,
in flat feet slapping the pavement
with echoes that reach
up to touch a sky
swirling with malevolence
in a way that makes me
feel like i'm home

the air sticks on me as
i stick on a bench and
watch a man draw a woman
into his heart and notebook
all at once while an angel
floats above the water and
weaves songs of paradise,
bursts of fire float around all
of us, whispering, "the magic
isn't dead, you've only forgotten"

clouds begin to crack open above
and the relief comes slow at
first with a steady roll of pattering
on sidewalks and bursts of light
menacing behind skyscrapers,
i begin to wonder how much
more i could levitate when you
come along and pull me up to
see that old cracked bell ring again

questioning why i'm doing this and
then it's all written in tiny print on
your too smooth skin and white
teeth despite all of the drunk cigarettes,
you're a hand painted shell begging
me to smash you open, and i can't
resist a good mess, especially if
i don't have to stick around to do
the cleaning up afterwards

i dance my way through giant
domino pieces and conversations
about human connection with eyes
as wide as they are shut, and god
****, do you want exactly that, but i'm
laughing in the bathroom, realizing
this city is romantic, but it isn't love