when we finally felt as if we had come to our senses,
we decided to walk through New York one last time.
the rain was warm,
and that surprised me.
your arms were not,
but I didn’t miss a beat.
the first borough,
we pretended that we were not pretending at all.
I stopped for a photo of a child,
so that I could pretend in our pretend world
that she was mine, and I was hers.
the second borough,
you grew tired but I was used to walking the talk,
so I carried the act on my back
while you carried my collection of books on yours.
(we had agreed that no trace of each other should be left in our homes and so
I took with me Dickens, Poe, and Plath)
the third borough,
you stopped for a smoke and I didn’t look away
as you inhaled everything that was wrong between us
and exhaled in relief.
I had a lifetime ahead of me to not see you
do the everyday things you did,
so I watched you with clear eyes and clouded conscience.
the fourth borough,
our steps
faltered
and
and I kissed you
for the last time
on the end of the fifth borough
and what I didn’t know was that
you too
had wished with all the broken bits of your heart
that there was a sixth borough.