New York City Today
My subway car carries one million men.
Improbably, each wears headphones–
behind every smile is a calculated fear.
I know those unsubtle white hairs,
the length of my pinky finger. Nothing
like yours. How I miss your jersey skin.
The lights cast their mean glare
on our cheeks. Silence grows its head;
I am so close I could touch him.
Columbine blue. The grousing way
I have with my mouth. What blows
through the tunnel. I could touch him,
but once I do, how might I go on,
and how then would we make good
on the promises of love.