Home of the Hundred Year Typo

on top of the pee roof,
where midtown meets me,
Eric and I talk of regret
and make jokes.

both of us
don't want to
recognize the middle,
the middle of us, our lives.

I often forget how many
beautiful women
roam the streets
of Manhattan.

up here,
we can see them all,
and we can contemplate
their thoughts.

I want to
still be a fraction
of a walking, thinking thought
in the mind of a smart, sharp woman.

Eric just wants to be neutral,
carving jokes into the sky
under roofs where
you and I laugh.