there are few things more constant
than the warmth of a body

replace the clock on the wall
with the anchor of arms
the click of tongue

call it home: that
tuft of hair underneath
skin that keeps

let it remind you
where you went
and where you are

before you forget it along
with your new address in that
gridlocked city with millions of limbs
crammed together, still
with a peculiar sense of
intimacy: a transaction
between people who
forgot to watch their step
just to crash into one another
and remember what it
used to feel like
before being dressed
in stranger

sometimes i am afraid of missing
my subway stop(!) because i am
lost in the accidental intimacy of
this city: the luggage tag on that
man’s suitcase, that text conversation
we read over his shoulder, his arms
compelled to hold me just to remain
steady. (one time you even fell
onto him and you couldn’t tell
whether your heart or the train
stopped first)

at one point does stranger become
friend? in a world where handshakes
only happen in business rooms and
dusky bars with eyes like subway trains
catch them before they leave yours
for another stop(!)

sometimes i want to scream on the train
and ask everyone their name and what warm
bodies they cling onto to remind themselves
human. sometimes i want to invite the entire
world in my bed and apologize for the
trash, the loneliness, the missed phone calls.
sometimes i want to hold you because it is
the only thing that prevents me from

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