Snapshots of New York

I accidentally left my camera at home, so I took these instead.

The blocks of Bleecker Street melt away under my feet. I’ll see you in minutes, just minutes, and we’ll have coffee and make plans. Almost there. Not too fast, not too fast. I still want to look fresh when I get there.

Underground, the hot wind blows and faces blur past us. We’re sticky with the heat, but you wrap your arms around me and keep me close. As the rails sway us, I hold on tight to you and feel your strong heart beating just beneath the surface. You’re always so alive.

And so is the songbird, emerging from all the hardship that would tar her wings, she’s aloft once again, pressing everything under her. She’s in heaven. Heaven is in her.

The long-distance New Yorker, made of sandy, golden laughter in the perfect Park, she can tell you about heaven too. The jealous gods look up in impotent disdain.

Champagne for my sister, her presence that of a benevolent queen, still my baby.

Just me and you again. You look at me. You keep looking. As dessert connoisseurs, we dive into the cheesecake side first, because we know that once we hit the chocolate, it alters the palette and there’s no going back.