Sharing cigarettes and cassettes,
discussing Medium Build
being the new Noah Kahan,
putting our poems on windowsills.
Her hipster irony mixes
with my age-related lethargy,
like a competing cocktail,
sober, not shaken.
She asks about my past,
and I ask about her tattoos,
we sings songs about the forgotten future
wondering where we are.
Pretending to eat pizza,
yelling real smiles on Orchard Street,
not wanting to leave this moment,
never wanting it to be real.
Determined not to fall in love,
but unable to stop laughing
and that is the ticket
to my dumb heart.