Hooly

flinging heartbreak around 
until it becomes an art medium 
set to ’80s new wave, string-swollen hooks, 
and aughts Britpop. 

I was strolling around Crown Heights at golden hour, 
a little book-drunk and hopelessly infatuated with a girl 
who’d “I used to work with” 
when I realized: this wasn’t a love song,
it was a 
limerence song, an anxious attachment anthem.

The late fashion designer Alexander McQueen once said 
there’s blood beneath every layer of skin, 
and barely concealed
under the cheer was a scrabbling, clawing desperation.

Here am I  
a boy clinging for dear life 
to one perfect moment 
for fear that another may never arrive.