I could disappear under his skin if he asked.
I’d build my self a little home beside his lungs and with every breath, I’d feel him.
Right under his
heart — that would be my
metronome.
His insides would
be my New York,
and his pulse
the passing train that shakes my crummy apartment.
the passing train that shakes my crummy apartment.
His brain, my Wall Street.
And every capillary and nerve
ending, each ligament and tendon,
from muscle to
from muscle to
muscle, an avenue to tiptoe across.
His eyelashes
my skyline, and his eyes
my Liberty.
Remember, I found you first.
