I don't even know
how to cover up the
poems anymore
so they won't know
who they are about
every stanza a clue,
every metaphor a sin
I am not allowed
to think of you this way
but what to do?
you're new york city.
even though you're far softer
less hectic, and way
less expensive. I decided
you're new york city
any how, because
you're a distant dream
and I don't know
how to get myself,
to stop thinking about
