down the rabbit hole

dim lights barely demystify the smile of strangers
and new faces tempt the curiosity of the regulars,
who are mostly white, unshaven men with
company named baseball caps, singing along
to an outdated, sticky jukebox. others cling
clumsily to the pool table and whisper under subdued
light bulbs to potential lovers, spunky women
with blonde hair and silver jewelry. bartenders
ignore the cockroach that scampers across the
wooden counter and the rush of twenty-one year olds
who glamorize memories of that night.

broad st.

white teenagers cruise by unlocked bicycles
and glowing vintage street lamps, swerving their
cars in circles on the empty intersection at night. the
faster they spin the louder their shrieks echo,
competing with the sound of crickets who
are also chirping for a thrill on broad street.

being in love (with food)

my hunger for you
awakens me from deep sleeps and
your scent guides me through new york labyrinths
revealing different versions
of your skin.

my lips touch
your unexplored, untouched surface
and we climax.

you leave me afterwards
but i feel like i no longer need you.
until five hours pass,
then i lust for you.

we begin, we end, i forget, i need
i don’t mind this fickle romance.

who knew shrimp cocktails
or crispy chicken sandwiches
would outlast the casanovas
of our century