it is 3 am and she

it is 3 am

and she is holding my hand

on a sleepy train

back into manhattan -

we are two point five hours

away from daylight,

chasing down

new york’s electric moonlight,

and i can feel

my pulse in her palm -

she is falling asleep

to the

rhythm of a city song,

a city hymn,

train track riff raff beats,

we can pretend

that this feeling is unfamiliar

as long as it lingers

in the hollow parts of

an approaching morning -

this moment is

so thirsty for audacity,

so unrequited in her apathy,

does she make believe

before she sleeps, too?

new york, this is

a Love Poem for you


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© 2018 by D. Inez "Z" Bell