I see your tongue tremble
on caressing the snowflakes,
I see my hands dust the crumbles
as if they were a sheet of dandruff.
I hear your breath sing to the stars
as if they were your lover from the twelfth grade,
I hear my voice spit disgust
at the night for breeding ambiguity.
I watch you prance around your mansion
with more windows than hearts,
I watch my steps shield my shadow
lest it gets lost along with the cobwebs.
Maybe I am unappreciative and cynical
and live in a box of rodent-infested hell,
but the quietude that’s music to your ears,
strangles my sleep, exacerbates my fears.
The neighbor’s dog, the community pool,
the informal people and the town’s fool
make me long for faces with no names—
the world where I can be alone in company: New York.