let’s elope
you and i
to the snow capped alps
where amidst a soft white blanket
we make love
in all one hundred and eight poses
making the tantric texts of yore proud

© 2022

truth be told
i’m leaving my heart right here
below the glass chandelier on 63rd St.
for you to play with,
any time you walk past.

the morbid dance of incoming storms
will douse the flames of my dreams,
yet, you will always be my incomplete thirst.

after i’m gone,
come, without remorse
and immerse in my colors
under this delicate murano glass.
to see for yourself
how the heavy fragrance
of black orchids could’ve played,
cheek to cheek
with the wild scent of green vetiver

© 2022

under the slanting rays
of the December sun,
silhouettes of this sin city
eke loneliness,
eating the timid
and spitting out carcasses.

its skies, ash gray
the refrigerated air moody
reminding wayfarers
that here is no place
to come seeking solace.

as apathy rains
sirens howl
and crime soars
the need to look over the shoulder
more pronounced than ever before.

the bottom line is
everyone’s looking to make money,
fast, furious and frenzied
in this,
my hometown- New York.