Ropes of fog dangle the fat moon outside your window
A soft fuzzy halo blurring the cratered outline.
Everything is blue
And the city breathes like a giant slumbering animal
Heaving breaths through the tiny squares of light
Sparsely dotted among the skyscrapers.
I am gently tasting your world
A drop at a time
And I wonder how you take it in tablespoons
Like unflavored cough syrup.
Do long nights give your soul less oxygen
Than mine?
Is it like watching the world die slowly
Bedroom light after bedroom light
Or like watching a bird fly into a window?
New York City is made of windows.
And so am I, really
Panes of stained glass waiting for a rock
Or a bolt of lightning
Or an earthquake.
Is it possible to miss you when you're awake?
Is it possible to miss you when you're holding me?
Make me a cup of tea
And let the moonlight fill it up
And spill it over the rim of the mug
Like too much milk and sugar.
Let it soak our hair and our clothes
In light
Until we emerge, dripping
In an evening summer rain.