When a man becomes New York City
you see yourself on his curb in golden afternoon light
you split a cigarette with him over the arm of a bench
laugh while he rains and you both search for a sushi restaurant
where the wait is less than an hour
When you visit this man who is a city
You imagine living here would always be this way
Your hair, tousled in the rain
His smile, a street tree with all its leaves
Pure forgiveness on his lips
When a man becomes Seattle
You find yourself on his dock in sunset rippling water
Ride bikes past the rusting, towering gasworks
Slump on the couch with your art books and poetry
When you live with this man who is a city
He calms you like the clouds
And holds you like the lake
It's not a dream.
When a man becomes a city
your goals becomes a fantasy of his body
The subway map, the trace of his muscles
Cobblestone streets, his crooked teeth
He's in the circus, you're in the circus
Some men you fly into
wander around as if in a dream
buy something beautiful for too much money
and then you fly away from him.
Some men you live in,
Rub the crust out of his eyes and you both go to work
Spend evenings on the couch in his sweats
You're reasonable with your spending money
You visit the library and grocery store frequently
You laugh at his holey socks
and memorize the choreography of his body hair.
Some cities are glitter
Some men are dreams
Some cities you pay rent
Some men you marry
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