on the roof
of Mark's building.
Partying with bi-coastal bisexuals,
talking about splitting my time
between New York and Florida.
Trying to relate
to so-and-so's Tinder date
but they were born in 1998.
I feel old but cooler than these dildos,
whose new opinions of New York
are downright adorable.
Drinking sparkling water
and discussing In Rainbows era Radiohead
with a beautiful redhead.
The skyline is gold,
sidewalks below hum with life anew,
the Rumbler sings a sweltering tune.
Underneath a June-lit moon,
I am aware that across the borough,
my borrowed muse lives.
I wonder if she thinks of me
on early evenings like this
in which laughter reminds us of the past.
Petrichor from today's rain
has stayed,
and I feel something akin to hope.