The Island of Foodies
Since that first kiss in the lobby on Boerum Hill
I’ve fallen in love with Brooklyn, and the risky, yellow ledges 
of subway platforms, and the way a small pinpoint of light 
emerges out of darkness to whisk me away, if I want, 
to the island of bankers and foodies.  A village of monarchs 
flickers in my knees when she’s around. All I want 
is the pure speed of our hands pressing through the years, 
and occasionally, to eat scrambled eggs at midnight 
and her full-throated eyes, which will not apologize 
for learning to sing as men fell from skies like popped balloons.
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