FRO 14 DTF

My Jenna Lies Over the Hudson

There’s love running freely in the sewers neath the gridded streets of this metropolis.

There’s cracked and brittle asphalt neath your sun-drenched skin.

And there’s a question that leaves me reaching blindly down dark alleys.

What do I love?

Is it this city?

Is it you?

Is it 3 am uptown, as our bodies pull a tight reef knot in your twin bed and I explain each line of my poetry to you?

Is it 29th street, as we sit at the pub table, drunk and underage, smiling and singing the songs of my ancestors?

Is it the A train, as your eyes give in to gravity and your head drifts into a half-hearted slumber on my bony left shoulder?

Is it Washington Square, as we kiss and kiss beside the arch and the rain cries tears of joy upon our dripping faces?

Is it walking up Broadway, as taxis pack overworked businessmen and pass us indulging in our blissful teenage romance?

Or is it me, telling you that I love you and that I will continue to until the New York minute slows down?